Many 'Verses One Song 'Verse 1
by Defender of Three
Summary: A young genetic construct named Quetzal is on the run. Her flight takes her through many 'Verses as she tries to evade Dark Beast and get back to her family.
1. Overture

Quetzal was not expecting to appear thirty feet above the ground. "Flipping heck!" she cursed and tried to recover. She flailed very briefly to try to regain attitude and landed hard on the ice below. Thirty feet- less than a second of free fall - was not enough time to do much of anything except twist around. She tried to land in a crouch to cushion the landing. Her heel slipped and she fell backwards, smacking her head and knocking herself out.

The ice cracked with the initial impact of her fall. It gave away completely under her full weight after she slipped. She slid under the icy water without ever gaining consciousness. Instinctively she stopped breathing and her hot blood fled from the surface of her skin to protect her vital organs, but it was still only a matter of minutes before she drowned or her body temperature dropped too low to survive.

* * *

The girl's rescue had been a near thing. She had fallen from nowhere and crashed through the ice, knocking herself out in the process. It was sheer luck on her part that Beast had been tramping around near the lake.

The lake was in the woods behind the school, so his distress call to the mansion was swiftly answered. He carefully went out on the ice, sliding on his stomach as he got near the hole to keep from cracking it further. The fur on his arms insulated him against the cold as he supported the girl, keeping her head and torso out of the water. She was pale and her lips were blue, but there was at least a weak pulse under his fingers when he checked. Her breath was shallow. When he pulled her eyelids back her pupils were dilated. She was in shock. He held her there, unwilling to risk falling in the icy cold water and turn a relatively simple rescue into something more complicated.

Hank held the young woman for a minute until Jean was there. Jean hadn't even bothered to put on a jacket. Her telekinesis made it easy to safely remove them from the ice and quick as a thought, she was flying them back to the mansion. Once inside Hank rushed the girl down to the medical room.

"I've got this!" Jean said. She had been scanning the minds of top doctors for treatment as they were carrying the girl back to the house. "Change out of those wet clothes before you get hypothermic too."

Hank left and Jean stripped the wet clothing off the girl, attaching monitor leads as she went. The clothes were summer wear, a tank top and jeans, completely inappropriate for the chilly January weather. The girl's temperature was 93 degrees and her heartbeat was frighteningly slow. Surfing the mind of an emergency room doctor, Jean turned the room upside down looking for what she needed. In the third cabinet she went through she found the device she was looking for. It would pump a steady stream of hot, humid air into the girl's lungs, warming her from the inside out.

Jean fitted the mask over the girl's mouth and nose and turned the pump on. She pulled an electric blanket to cover the girl modestly. The blanket was set on its very lowest setting to keep from damaging the tissues closer to the surface. Once she had her warming up, Jean checked the medic alert necklace around her neck. A blue and yellow caduceus locket hung next to a small gold cross. Inside the locket was the alert.

_Genetically Atypical. _

_May Go Into Hibernation_

_Elevated Body Temperature_

_Avoid Contact With Saliva_

Beast was buttoning his shirt as he entered the room. "How is she?"

"Her heart is weak but beating, I've started her on warmed air. The next thing to do is stick a tube in her nose, down into her stomach, fill her up with warm water to raise her core temperature. Her temperature is much lower than I'd thought, her medalert locket says it's supposed to be high. She might also be hibernating. Put on some gloves. It says to avoid contact with her saliva."

"I'll get the tube into her stomach, you see if you can figure out who she is."

Jean looked puzzled. "I can't reach her mind. It's . . . I can see it's there, but I can't read it."

Beast unwound a length of plastic tubing. "You might try checking her wallet."

Jean resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him as she retrieved the sopping wallet from the pile of the girl's things. "Wow, this is a mouthful. Quetz – Quetzal – you try." She held out the driver's license.

"Quetzalcoatl Hope dos Santos."

"Thank you. Let's see, red hair-"

"That's an understatement," Beast muttered as he gathered the rest of what he would need. The girl's hair was a vivid blood red from her scalp to where it ended, halfway down her back. No sign that she dyed it either.

"Caucasian. Eyes, golden. Five-foot-ten-inches. Lives somewhere called Asylum, Texas. She's not an organ donor."

"How old is she?"

"Born June 8 . . . ." Jean frowned. "Thirty-five years from now." She shuffled through the wallet. "I think we have a genuine time traveler here. All of her cash is dated about fifty years or so from today. Library card, ATM card, GameHaven discount card, Sheds and Royal Books membership card, all with expiration dates set for at least fifty years from today. This is weird - "Jean pulled out a card and flipped it over. "This one doesn't match the others. It looks like an ID for an organization called Teen Titans. The expiration date on this one is just two years from now."

"She has an ID card printed for thirty years before she was born?"

"Registered in some place called Gotham City. You ever hear of it?"

"No."

Jean tucked the card back in the wallet. "Very peculiar. We'll have to ask her about this when she wakes up."

* * *

Quetzal's core was warming up rapidly. Natural processes were ticking away; primeval, reptilian functions that had no business existing in the body of a young woman. Her body was clicking on, forcing her out of a dormant state. Warm blood was being pumped to the areas of her body most able to quickly deal with danger. Forced through the kidneys to strain out toxins and pumped out to major muscle groups, it largely bypassed the parts of her brain used for conscious thought and impulse control. Adrenaline flooded her system. She was waking up quickly and with her fight or flight instincts raging at full tilt.

* * *

Beast had measured and lubricated the hose and was preparing to insert it in the girl's nose. He was distracted by a sudden and very dramatic rise in her heart rate. When he turned back to her, her eyes were wide open. The first thing that struck Beast was that they were actually golden, not yellow. The second thing that struck him was her heavy claws. He roared in pain and clutched his torn up nose.

Quetzalcoatl was shrieking. "Get the hell away from me you twisted son of a whore!" She flung herself away from him. Her wide eyes took in the room and became wilder. "What did you do to my family?!"

Instinctively Jean tried to reach out to the girl's mind and calm her. The girl reacted by backing further into a corner and flinging a chair at Beast. Jean halted it in midair. Quetzalcoatl made a break for the door. Beast made a half-hearted attempt to block her, still clutching his bleeding nose. Jean thought she was going to just knock him over, but at the last moment the girl turned. Quetzalcoatl turned quickly and sprung at Jean, both her clawed hands reaching for Jean's face.

Jean used her telekinetic force to stop Quetzalcoatl's leap. The claws were a scant quarter inch from Jean's face. Behind the claws the girl's face was filled with an even mix of terror and rage. Frozen in midair Quetzalcoatl snarled. "Where's my family?"

"Calm down," Jean managed to keep from flinching. "And we can talk about this."

The words didn't seem to make any impact. Her eyes tracked over to Beast and the snarl became fiercer. The panic left her voice and it became steely and full of loathing. "I'm gonna kill you by inches for what you did to those kids. I'm gonna use that flea-bitten mangy-ass pelt as a rug, whatever flipping color it is."

"What kids are you talking about?" Jean asked, stepping backwards, away from the claws. She still couldn't read the girl's thoughts, but hate was rolling off her in waves. Roughly sketched scenes slammed into Jean's mind. Small bodies and horrible experiments, exposed organs, mangled corpses. "What kids?" Jean was more insistent.

But being held motionless like she was made the girl's mental state deteriorate further. The sketches burst into colors of pure emotion. She wasn't paying attention to Jean any longer. Quetzalcoatl started fighting the telekinetic force like an animal in a trap. "You twisted asshole! Let me go! Who's this bitch!? Where's my family? Why the hell are you blue?!" She thrashed as best as she could against the invisible force; her fingers opening and clenching into white knuckled fists and tossing her head back and forth.

"Calm her down Jead!" Beast tried to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

"I can't! You'll have to sedate her." Jean gently set Quetzalcoatl flat on the ground and pinned her there.

Quetzalcoatl's wild eyes didn't have any semblance of humanity in them. She was trapped and she was panicking. "Let me go!" she howled. "Where's my dad? What did you do with my sisters?!" She continued to kick and scream under the telekinetic field. "You son of a whore I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna rip out your throat. I'll gut you from one side to the other! Child-murderer!"

Beast quickly filled a syringe with a sedative. Hopefully chemicals would work better than Jean's psychic ability.

Quetzalcoatl's roar turned into a shriek of mortal terror and she squeezed her eyes shut as he approached. After the ear-splitting screech she was silent. She was stiff as a board and shivering. When he knelt next to her she flinched and whimpered. She was crying. "Don't," she moaned. "Please don't hurt me. Please, don't kill me."

"Poor girl is terrified," Beast said. "We're not going to hurt you."

The girl was still shaking and whimpering. When he laid the point of the syringe against her skin she wailed piteously.

He lifted the syringe away. "Will you stay calm if we let you up?"

She snuffled and nodded. He looked to Jean for confirmation and all she could do was shrug. The girl's mind was still unreadable, but her terror was clear. There was no guarantee Quetzalcoatl would remain calm.

"Let her up," Beast stepped back. "I promise you young lady, I have not hurt any children."

Quetzalcoatl didn't get up when Jean let her go. She curled into a tight ball on the floor and continued whimpering. She looked very young.

Beast turned and got a fistful of tissues to clear his nose. "Damn, she packs quite a wallop."

Cautiously, Quetzalcoatl scooted so her back was to a wall and sat up. She snuffled loudly and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Her gilt eyes were full of terror and rimmed red with crying.

"It's okay," Jean said. "We're not going to hurt you. You aren't . . . wherever you were. You're safe here. Whoever you were afraid of, he's not here."

Quetzalcoatl stood up, leaning against the wall, trying to disappear into the drywall and plaster. Trying to cover herself. "Where's my family? I want my dad." Her voice was a plaintive whine.

"We'll find him," Jean promised. "You're safe."

The girl looked over at Beast, who still had his head tilted back in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. "Safe?" she finished the word with a bitter, disbelieving laugh.

Jean stepped forward and checked the girl's reaction. The girl's lip quivered a little but she didn't try to get any further away. "Nobody here wants to hurt you." Jean projected as much sincerity and trustworthiness as she could muster. Quetzalcoatl should have been utterly contented and calm with everything Jean was hitting her with.

But Quetzalcoatl kept staring at Beast like she thought he was going to spring at her.

Jean smiled and rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I'm not lying. We want to help you. Tell us about your family, we'll help you find them."

Without warning, Quetzalcoatl lashed out. She whipped around and slammed Jean's head into the wall. Jean crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Quetzalcoatl dove for Jean's helpless form, clawed fingers already reaching for soft flesh, when Beast wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up and back. The girl, squealing and twisting like a demon, lashed out with her feet. One heel connected with Jean's head and the other foot crunched into Jean's ribcage.

Beast hauled her away from Jean. He released one arm to grab the syringe and didn't hesitate a second before plunging the needle into her and drugging her into oblivion. Three seconds later the girl called Quetzalcoatl was limp in his arms.


	2. Getting to Know You: The King and I

Jean woke up reluctantly to a pounding in her head and pain throughout her upper body. "Anyone get the number of that truck?"

"Jean! Thank god!" Scott's voice seared through her skull.

"What happened?" She raised a hand to her head and felt a bump the size of a goose egg. "Is the girl okay?"

"That 'girl' almost killed you. Hank pulled her off."

Jean opened her eyes and winced at the light. "What happened to her?"

"Hank has her sedated and strapped down to a bed in the medical ward. Logan's keeping an eye on her. It won't matter much if she kicks him in the ribs."

"Most powerful psychic in the world and I get taken by surprise by a panicked teenager. It's been a long time since I was taken off guard like that," she said. "What's the damage?"

"Mild concussion, a cracked rib."

"She was so frightened. I couldn't reach her mind, but I could feel her fear. She was so afraid. Is she okay?"

Scott frowned. _He_ had been frightened. Jean had been seriously hurt. That her first thought was how scared her attacker had been instead of her own welfare was upsetting. "She's groggy, but she's fine."

An inhumanly loud and primal screech of terror made a liar out of him. Scott and Jean were out of the door in a shot. The shriek was followed by a crashing sound and a lot of swearing. Down the hall Logan was standing outside the room, staggering a bit. "I swear I didn't touch her," he stumbled into the wall. The shriek in the enclosed room had ruptured his ear drums. There was a sharp pain, hearing loss, and a nauseating vertigo. "I think I'm going to sit down for a minute here." He sat and leaned against the wall, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

In the small room, the girl was flailing against the restraints, once again in a state of panic.

"What's wrong with her?" Scott asked the air. The girl did look very young and vulnerable.

She went rigid. Her eyes were wild, rimmed with panic and fear. "Wake up, Quetzal. Wake up." She bit her lip. "Please wake up."

"You are awake," Scott said

Reluctantly she accepted that. "Where's my dad?" she asked him. "Where are my sisters?"

"You were the only one we found. We'll find your family."

"No!" she screamed, flinging herself against the straps; the leather creaked against the force. The murderous look was back in her eyes. "You deal with _me_ now," she bared her teeth at him. "If you've got enough _juevos_ to deal with a tied down girl."

Jean got a few more roughly sketched thoughts. There was worry, rage, and fear. "You don't want us to find your family."

Quetzalcoatl's grin was fierce. "Don't worry your pretty little head. My dad'll find _you_. And when he does he's gonna kill you all." She laid back, making an effort to look calm. Her body was still tense but she closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillow. "You and Dark Beast, and every other flipping clone, construct, and other thing who's had a hand in this."

"Wherever you were," Scott said. "You aren't there anymore. You fell into a pond out back."

"Who is Dark Beast?" Jean asked.

The girl was trying hard to keep up the calm façade, but her face was tense. She was bracing herself for the worst.

Jean pressed the point, fearing the answer. "Tell us about Dark Beast."

Quetzalcoatl squeezed her eyes tighter. "Go. To. Hell," she said through clenched teeth. The wave of thought fragments, emotion, and rough images were more clearly defined. The contents nearly sent her reeling. Small bodies, large bodies, family in danger, a crystal, and a large dark creature full of malevolence and evil intent. A creature with a terrifyingly familiar face.

Jean grabbed onto Scott's arm. Half to catch herself and half to pull him out of the room for a quiet talk. "I got something from her."

"Hank said you couldn't read her at all."

"I can't really. It's like listening to a foreign language. You recognize a word here and there and the tone, but you can't understand anything specific." And she could only read the girl by making an effort, for which Jean was now thankful. "The Dark Beast she was talking about . . . . it was Hank. But evil." She shuddered. "He was doing horrible things."

"Hank? Evil?"

Jean's brow furrowed as she recalled the girl's memories. It wasn't pleasant. They were electric with ragged and raw emotion. The substance of the memories was foul, Jean shied away from the images of tiny bodies cut open and displayed. She was grateful that the translation problems kept her from seeing the small bodies with any more clarity. "I saw some of what she's thinking. Images, feelings. It's all in a jumble but from what I see . . . . she's got good reason to want Dark Beast dead. There was something about a cousin or a sister he got his claws on. That's why she's so violent. There's all this fear and hate wrapped up in the memory. She's scared for her life." The Dark Beast held in the girl's mind was intimately associated with death and fear and dismemberment. Nothing at all like Hank.

"What can we do? We can't keep her tied down."

"I'll talk with her."

"Jean she tried to kill you."

"I'll be okay Scott, she's strapped down and I'm not taking any more chances with her. I'm not the one she's afraid of anyway."

****************

Quetzal was trying to calm down. Her biggest ace was still tight against her vest and she needed an accurate idea of what her situation was before she pulled it out. She tried to bat down the rising panic and find the patient reptile part of her mind. The part that could sit for hours and not think much of anything, the part that didn't panic. She was warming up and finding it easier to think, but there wasn't anything about her position that was causing her less worry. She hardly noticed the loose pajamas that had been slipped on her while she was out.

She was strapped to a bed in typical hospital fashion. Leather restrains with magnetic locks circling her wrists and ankles, straps going over her chest and thighs. Her arms were outside of a blanket that was pulled up to collarbone. It was a common restraint and the escape was one her dad had covered. There was the patient way to get out and the messy way. Quetzal opted for the patient way. It would calm her down and give her something to occupy her mind. She curled her hands and started digging into the tough leather with her claws. Her claws weren't terribly sharp, but they were strong.

The door swung open and Quetzal lifted her head. It was the red-haired teeker that had been in the lab room. "Hello, Miss dos Santos." the woman smiled soothingly.

She was probably a psion too. Quetzal dove even further for the reptile part of her mind. Psis couldn't follow her there. "Call me Quetzal. Who the flipping heck are you?" Quetzal snarled.

"My name is Jean Grey."

"Jean Grey's snuffed." Her eyes smoldered with sullen anger. "Everyone knows she's dead. If you actually believe you're her than you're stupider than a brain dead goose."

The girl came from at least fifty years in the future, but it was still a bit of a blow to hear it said so bluntly. Still, Jean forced a friendly smile. "You're not in your time anymore. You've traveled backwards."

". . . . What?"

"According to your driver's license, you won't even be born for more than thirty five years."

". . . . . No, that's impossible. Ezzy said the crystal only moves from quanta-verse to quanta-verse. It doesn't travel along a single dimension like time."

"Who is Ezzy? And what crystal?"

The stony hostility was fading from Quetzal's face, replaced with bewilderment and dismay. "The M'Kraan crystal. That's why he took Ezzy. She understands multi-universe theory stuff."

"So you're from another universe then?" Jean drew it out, half drawing the conclusion and half asking.

Quetzal's eyes sparkled in thought for a moment. "I have a few questions that I want answered now," it was clear that she wasn't asking out of curiosity, what she had to say next would depend on what kind of answers she got. "Where _exactly_ am I?"

"The Xavier School for Gifted Students. New York."

"So you're the really real Jean Grey. You ain't a clone or a replicant or something?"

"Yes. I am Jean Grey. The one and only."

Quetzal rolled her eyes. "That what he's told you? And he's got you believing it?"

"Hank is not your enemy. He only bears a passing resemblance to your enemy. You've come from another world, but you're safe in this one."

"Well flipping heck," Quetzal muttered to herself, processing what she'd been told. "Wonder how that happened." Louder, she asked Jean, "And what do you want with me?"

"You fell into the lake out back. You were hypothermic. We were trying to help you."

"Why should I believe that? There's people who'd want to hurt me."

"If _we'd_ wanted to hurt you then we would've done it while you were in hypothermic shock. Now, who would want to hurt you?"

"Dark Beast, Wolverine, the Perseus corporation, anyone else who hates my family or would want to see my genetic code teased apart. There's actually a pretty good sized list of people who'd want to hurt me."

"Wolverine?"

Quetzal's eyes narrowed. "You going to tell me he wasn't here for me?"

Jean got another image flash. The dark under the bed lit up with glowing yellow eyes and drooling fangs. And six wicked claws dripping blood and gore. A childhood monster, but one that resonated with a very real fear. The strength of that fear nearly knocked her off her feet. "He was here keeping an eye on you for us. You did just try to stomp in my ribcage."

Quetzal made a disgusted little face and looked away. "In my world he killed a lot of my family. He's the stuff night terrors are made of."

"Jesus."

"Don't blaspheme!" Quetzal snapped. She fell back against the pillow. "I didn't go home!" her hands curled into frustrated fists and she banged her head on the pillow. She snuffled. Her calm mask was cracked and emotion was leaking through. "This has to be a bad dream. Dark Beast, Wolverine . . . . it can't be real." Tears were pricking at her eyes again.

"Hank isn't Dark Beast. He's not the evil creature you encountered." Wincing and carefully trying to avoid jarring her ribs, Jean sat down. "You were pretty badly injured. You had a pretty severe case of hypothermia. We were trying to warm you up."

"Could be a trick," Quetzal said, not really believing her own words. "Dark Beast does a lot of cloning, and fur's easy enough to dye."

"Why bother? Why not just kill you when you were out cold." Jean pulled a tissue from the box and dabbed at Quetzal's face, cleaning up the tears.

Quetzl seemed to smile a little. "Good point. Okay, I'm willing to accept everything is as it seems . . . for now."

"Good." Carefully, Jean leaned back in her chair. "Now why don't you start your story at the beginning."

"In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was God." Quetzal smirked.

"Cute."

Quetzal sighed. "A few weeks ago I guess, my cousin Ezzy – Esmerelda - got kidnapped by Dark Beast. She's a genius about quantum mechanics and dimensional mathematics. He wanted her help to figure out how to travel from universe to universe with this crystal he had. Of course, we had to go rescue her."

"Who was 'we?"

"My dad, my sisters, and my cousin."

"Why not call the authorities?"

"We're from Asylum." The tone in Quetzal's voice implied that it was a complete and comprehensive answer. "We take care of our own." There was pride in her voice. "Dad's retired special forces and my sister's a sheriff's deputy. We ain't just gonna sit around and wait for someone else to take care of us. Dark Beast took Ezzy to his base on this island. He did . . . some bad stuff to her. We rescued her. But we splintered the crystal. Part of it got inside me. Then . . . . poof. I was someplace else. Someplace that didn't exist in my world. Gotham city." Quetzal picked at the sheet. "I was there for a few weeks. I thought when I left there . . . . I thought that I was going home."

"So when you saw Beast you panicked then."

"Pretty much yeah. Thought I had gone back and ended up in. . . . in a very bad situation."

"And when you saw Logan you flipped out."

"You'd flip out too if you woke up eyeball to eyeball with the man who had done his damndest to wipe out your whole family." Quetzal sighed. "So now what?"

"I just have a few more questions. Why can't I read your mind?" It shouldn't be possible for Quetzal to be such a mystery. She could read aliens that had nearly no genetic resemblance to human beings.

"My mutation has altered the structure of my brain." Quetzal shrugged as best as she could. "Probably that's why." She wasn't about to go into detail about what made her brain unusual.

"One more question. I can understand why you attacked Hank and screamed your head off when you saw Wolverine, but why did you attack me?"

Quetzal's golden eyes glittered with a predatory coolness. "Well that's just tactics. In any fight, you take out the teekers and psions first."

****************

Scott, Jean, Logan, and Hank sat down to discuss the problem of the new girl. Despite their injuries, Hank and Jean were the most sympathetic. They were the ones that had witnessed the sheer animal panic. There was no maliciousness in her actions, just fear. "We inadvertently put that girl in the worst possible scenario we could," Hank said. "We can't entirely blame her."

"There is something I don't like about her," Logan growled.

"Besides the shattered eardrums?" Hank couldn't help smiling just a bit.

"Besides the shattered eardrums," Logan snapped back.

"We can't leave her tied down," Jean said. "We're going to have to take a chance sooner or later."

Scott frowned. "The last time she was given a chance she nearly stomped your ribcage in."

Jean was adamant. "She's willing to give us a chance. And she's got a lot more reason to be frightened of us."

"Keep her away from the kids," Scott said. "And for a little while at least I want someone keeping an eye on her. I don't want her trying to kill you again Hank."

****************

Quetzal paced the nice but bare room she had been given. All her worldly possessions were laid out on and in the dresser. The pouches of the utility belt had been opened and the contents rifled through, weapons removed. But the 'secret' pouch was untouched and apparently undiscovered. Robin had helped her design the pocket within a pocket so that documents could remain hidden. Frantically Quetzal checked the hidden pocket. Inside the water-proof, flame-resistant fabric was a half dozen photos, her most valuable possessions. A sense of paranoia made her take them out of her wallet and hide them as soon as she found herself in a world that wasn't her own. She waved her long tongue over the photos and tasted no one's scent but her own. They were photos of her family. The only keepsakes she had now that she was whole universes away from them. That and the crucifix her father had given her. She traced her claws over the faces of her dad and sisters. "I'll come home. I promise. I'll find my way back." Briefly she clutched the pictures to her chest then tucked them back into the pocket.

Photos were too dangerous to leave around where someone might see. Her wallet had been rifled through, but the only photos in there were of the family pets. Photos could put your family in danger. They could be used as a lever to tear down defenses. Or they could put the people you loved most in the world in a dangerous situation.

Still, nice to have a memento now that she was so far away. And didn't know when she'd see them again. In the meantime, out of sight, out of mind and thank goodness the psi couldn't tap her brain. She'd find a better hiding spot once she had a chance to explore the room some more.

She tossed the Titan communicator into one of the drawers. It wouldn't be much good in a world where they didn't exist. "Not much to show in the world Quetzal m'gal," she said. "A empty belt of toys, a hundred bucks in cash that'll get flagged counterfeit, and some bad fitting clothes they gave me." She tapped a heavy claw against her teeth. "And a load of friendly enough folks I pissed off."

She'd been given a chance to calm down and wash up. She spent a lot of time in the shower, trying to calm down and fit everything that had just happened into a reasonable framework. The hot water took the cold out of her bones but her heart rate was only beginning to normalize. Waking up and seeing that face, those eyes . . . . she shuddered. And then waking up again and this time to a childhood nightmare made incarnate. . . .

"Dad would be so disappointed," she muttered, brushing out her hair. "Screaming my fool head off, lashing out without taking the time to think and evaluate." She shook her head and wagged her finger sternly at the mirror. "It's our instincts that get us in trouble Baby," Quetzal repeated her dad's admonishment in a fair imitation of his stern manner. "You have to think before you act." She shook her head. "And such language too! Dad raised me better than that."

There was a polite knock on the door before it opened. "How's the room?" Mr. Summers asked her.

Quetzal smiled. "It's great thank you. And thank you for the clothes too." She finished twisting her damp hair up into a bun. "Look, I have to apologize again for earlier today. It was a . . . . . really, really bad reaction on my part." She shuddered. "I'm just glad y'all were able to stop me from doing anything . . . . permanent."

"You understand we'd like to keep close tabs on you for a few days."

"Yeah. It'd be different if Ms. Grey could read my mind I know, to make sure I'm really not a threat." She laughed a little. "Flipping heck. All my life dad told me and my sisters 'If you get in a bad fix, see the X-Men, they'll help." She shook her head. "And what's the first thing I do when I finally meet the X-Men? I start brawling."

"He told you that?"

"Yeah, said he'd never heard of them ever turning away someone they thought they could help." She shrugged. "It's a good place for a kid to run to if things get bad."

That made Scott smile a little. "Was your dad close to the X-Men . . . in your time?"

"Not really. He doesn't approve of them at all. Says that they are genetic isolationists. Says if they really wanted to promote integration they'd let genetically typical kids into the school too, not just the atyps." She shrugged again. "Doesn't really approve of heroing work either."

"Atyps? You mean mutants?"

Quetzal blinked several times in rapid succession. "Wow, I guess I really am in the past. I haven't heard anyone use the m-word like that before."

"Mutant' is offensive?"

"Well . . . yeah. I mean, you can talk about mutated genes. But you just don't call another kid a –" her voice dropped. "A mutant. That kind of language is genecist. It'll get you a beat down." The tips of her ears colored in embarrassment for him. She gaped for a second before finding an excuse for him. "But from what you're telling me about the date – I guess I have to get used to things being a little wild and wooly in the area of genetic tolerance."

"Yeah, just a lot." He pointed to the locket around her neck. "I can't wrap my mind around you actually wearing something that marks you as a muta – atyp."

Quetzal crossed her eyes to look at the locket. "I got it when I was fifteen. Most atyp kids wear 'em. How else is a paramedic gonna know if you don't have a heartbeat, or if you're allergic to epinephrine, or if you turn to rock when you get stuck with a needle, or something like that?" She dropped it to let it rest against her collarbone. "Dad wasn't particularly fond of the genalert jewelry himself. Old guard I guess." She smiled. "Can we finish the rest of the interview in the kitchen? I am starving."

****************

Scott handed Quetzal a sandwich and they discussed the nature of her mutation.

"I'm a saurian morphic. Purely physical capabilities and a tested super-sensitive."

"Super-sensitive?"

"Better sight, smell, and etcetera. I can 'see' in the infrared and taste things in the air." She ate half the sandwich in two bites, barely chewing. After she swallowed she continued. "I've also got some anatomical abnormalities. Bony back-plates, venom, some extra diaphragm muscles, and of course the claws." She rattled it off like she was used to the recitation and clacked her claws together.

"It sounds like mutants – atyps – are registered in your time." The thought made him queasy.

She shook her head and talked around the mouthful of food tucked into her cheek. "No, atyps aren't registered." She gave him a puzzled, sideways look. "I mean, you got to have words so everyone knows what you mean. Pyros, skinners, super sensitives, healers, teekers, psions, blasters, stoners, morphics . . . you get the idea. It's just . . . for talkin'." She shrugged. "Just like you got brunette, Latina, and tall."

He turned the conversation back to the topic at hand. "So you have saurian characteristics."

She shook her head again but swallowed the last of her sandwich this time. "Well yes, I _have _saurian characteristics. But I'm a saurian _morphic_. I can alter my form. A were-dinosaur if you like." Quetzal looked at her empty plate. "I don't like it though. It changes my brain too, makes me mean. But I can fly in that form. It takes a lot of calories."

Scott got the hint. He stood up to make her another sandwich. "So what's it like where – _when_ you come from? What's the culture like between humans and mutants?"

"Well," she shrugged. "Things are pretty good I guess. There's still a lot of hashing out to do, mostly about what kind of accommodations have to be made for facilities considering various mutations. The AGAA passed about five years ago, and there's still another two years for businesses to bring their buildings and policies up to code before the lawsuits start."

"AGAA?"

"Americans with Genetic Abnormalities Act. Dad says it's going to be ugly when the lawsuits start up, the basic reality is if a pyro can't control when they burst into flames, they probably shouldn't hang out in shopping malls. Alternatively a super-sensitive makes a better perfumer than a typ would." She shrugged. "Still, good news for our family lawyer."

Scott handed her the sandwich.

"Thank you."

"So can you give me a timeline of events that led up to this?"

Quetzal chewed thoughtfully as she considered her answer. "I'm not sure that I should. One, I think I should just let things unfold the way they would. Keep my hands off to prevent any paradoxes or causality things. Two, this isn't *my* universe. I don't know how accurate that would be. I'll have to think about that. Three," her ears turned red. "I'm not a very good student. My history and English is especially weak. I uh, I don't think I could get anything that happened before I was born in the right order. Much less give any kind of analysis on the implications of the events."

That made her different from every other time traveler he had met. Normally they came from post-apocalyptic worlds and were only too glad to share dire warnings from the future. He decided not to press it in light of her embarrassment over her studies. "I wanted to ask you about one of the cards in your wallet. It's dated to expire more than thirty years before you're born."

"Oh yeah, the Titans. They were in the universe between this one and my home. After the confrontation with Dark Beast I ended up in the shipping district of Gotham. It's a heroing group, great bunch of kids. And I mean kids. At eighteen I was just barely qualifying to be one of the 'Teen Titans.' They did light hero work, nothing too hairy. The card gets me into the Gotham City base of operations."

"Where's Gotham City?"

"About where Chicago should have been." She took a large bite of her sandwich. "The main group was in Bay City, but I never made it out to the left coast while I was there." She shook her head. "Very weird. My geography's better than my history, but only by a bit. Every time I looked at a map I'd still get this niggly feeling something wasn't right though."

****************

Quetzal licked the mustard off her fingers with her long blue-grey tongue. The caginess about her home came so naturally that she never thought it was weird. The where and what questions about her home were ones that she had been trained to talk around. Three hours from anywhere you'd want to be, a dead silver mining town, a little farming community with nothing to do – all stock phrases used to dodge the matter.

Avoiding the when of her home came just as naturally and with just as little thought. Answers that distracted from the topic or made her seem like an unreliable witness were something all Asylum kids were good at. Filling in a statement with a large quantity of nearly-irrelevant details to seem gregarious was also a popular way form of misdirection. How to turn black into white without ever telling a lie was something her family in particular excelled at. Tell half the story and let the listener fill in the blanks however they liked. Create an awkward silence and change the topic.

She knew what would come next. Next would be who. Family, friends, neighbors. _Who_ was a dangerous topic. _Who_ was why everyone was so careful about where and what. _Who_ could get people killed. People like the town sheriff, her ballet teacher, and countless neighbors.

Somewhere she was aware that this was not normal. Other people didn't hide where they came from and who their neighbors were. But this was what she grew up knowing. And even if these folk were near a half century and a few thousand miles from her town (heck, an entire universe it seemed), and on top of that, unlikely as they were to mean any harm to her kith and kin, she wasn't inclined to buck against nearly two decades worth of ingrained habit.

Besides, it wasn't like she had any secrets that would hurt them.

****************

Quetzal was on her fourth sandwich by the time Scott asked her about her family history. She made the third and fourth sandwiches herself, happily raiding the refrigerator.

"You sure? I mean, I think it's pretty boring."

Every teen thought their family was boring. He didn't give it too much credit. "Yeah, let's start with your parents."

"Victor and Isabella dos Santos. Mom's dead now. Died when I was a bitty thing. My sisters are a lot like her – everyone says that. Me? I'm daddy's little angel."

"Were they both atyps?"

"Yeah, dad was a superhealer, but he doesn't patch up people. He's the town vet. He's got a pretty good large animal practice. There's a lot of cows and horses in Asylum – it's never really grown out of the whole 'wild west' phase. Does dogs and cats too though. He's the only vet in town y'see. Before he started doing veterinary stuff though, he spent some time with the army. He was special forces and he taught us kids a lot of what he knew." She took a bite of her sandwich. "That's why he took us to get Ezzy back."

"And your mother?"

"She was an atyp too, saurian morphic like me. Dad says all of us girls are a lot like mom." She smiled to herself briefly. "She was a cook for a while, then she got involved in the veterinary field. That's really where she connected with my dad. Dad says she was a very small-town gal at heart."

"Tell me about your sisters."

"Kimmie, Sally, and Charlie. They're identical triplets, practically clones of our mom. Saurian morphics too. Sally went to New York a few years ago to try her hand at being a big city chef. Kimmie's part of dad's veterinary business. And Charlie's a sheriff's deputy in town." Quetzal drummed her claws on the table. "If you're going to ask about grandparents next don't bother. Dad and mom both were both cut off from their families when their powers manifested. There's . . . . a whole lot of really bad blood there. We don't . . . . talk about it. At. All."

"Any other family?"

"Most of my extended family was killed before I was born."

She didn't put any finer a point on the matter. Not after the scene she'd made in the medlab a few hours ago.

Quetzal quickly filled in the awkward silence she'd created. "There was a friend of my dad who we called Aunty, and her daughters were our cousins." She rolled her eyes and propped her head against her fist. "Those two are who got me into this mess."

"What about your education?"

"I have a high school diploma and I'm EMT certified. That's it as far as formal schooling. I've taken fourteen years of dance lessons and twelve years of martial arts training. I've has some voice-coaching too, started in the church choir." Her smile was broad. "I'm fluent in Spanish and ASL – my cousin Grace was deaf y'see. Thanks to all the opera I used to sing I know a rough smattering of German and Italian."

"You quite accomplished for you age."

"Busy hands can't cause trouble," she said. Her smile was a little mischievous. "I've been known to cause a lot of trouble when I don't have anything better to do. There was this one time when I was eight and I found my dad's shotgun shells . . . well, that's really neither here nor there. Suffice to say, it's always best if I've got something I should be doing so I don't wind up occupying myself with things I should _not_ be doing."


	3. Brand New Day: Sting

Three days later Quetzal was allowed to wander on her own. She made no more hostile moves, even if she did eat half the contents of the kitchen on a daily basis. She was very friendly and her Texan drawl made her gregariousness even more charming.

"I still don't like her," Logan said. The intensity of his dislike was without reason and unusual. Usually he ended up as some kind of mentor figure when it came to young women like that. Rogue, Jubilee, and Kitty had all been about Quetzal's age when they arrived. And Quetzal was a hell of a lot more polite than any of them had been.

"Well that's not entirely surprising," Hank looked up from the computer. "Look here," he brought up a picture of Quetzal's DNA and pointed to a portion of it.

"What am I looking at?"

"This is reptilian DNA – komodo dragon, and this," he moved his finger. "Is avian DNA, some kind of raptor, linking it together here is saurian DNA – I'd guess some kind of oviraptor based on what the gen scan says."

"And how does that lead to me not liking her?"

"She's closer to a mutated dinosaur than a mutated human. Technically, I'm not sure if you could even classify her as a mammal. It's probably why Jean can't read her."

"You're still not getting to the point."

"Out of all of us you're the one closest to their instincts. Something in you is responding to the fact that she's basically higher on the food chain than a primate. We're all evolved primates here." Beast took a look at the picture of her genetics again. "To tell the truth, she gives me the heebie-jeebies too."

"She is not higher on the food chain than me. And she does not give me the 'heebie-jeebies."

Hank shrugged. "A comparison of your genetics would suggest otherwise." He looked at the screen thoughtfully. "I would not want to meet that genetic code in a dark alley."

There was a knock on the door. Quetzal poked her head in. "Is this a bad time Dr. McCoy? I can come back later."

"This is fine Quetzal. What can I do for you?"

"I need a batch of anti-venin. I usually keep several doses on me, in case of accidents." She smiled broadly. "Hello Mr. Logan, how are you today?"

"Fine. I gotta go."

Quetzal moved aside to let him through. She shut the door quietly and turned to Beast. "He doesn't like me, does he?"

"It takes him a while to warm up to people. What can I do for you?"

She stared at the screen, which still displayed a nicely labeled picture of her genome. "You gen-scanned me." Quetzal pointed at the computer. "I would appreciate it if you would delete my gen scan and any record of it." Her voice was abnormally stern.

"I prefer to keep them on file. It's the sort of thing that proves very useful down the road."

She sighed deeply and sat down in the chair Wolverine had vacated. "Look, keep this between your own ears okay, but I'm a levite."

". . . . . . A member of the jewish priest sect?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. Like 'Levis.' Y'know, designer genes."

He ignored the pun. "You're a Frankenstein?"

Her glare could have melted adamantium. "Don't _ever_ call me that. But yes, I am a construct. Designed and built from gene one."

"For what purpose?"

The fire in her eyes dimmed to a flat predatory glaze and the pupils contracted into pin points. Her face was a calm mask, but she gripped the chair of her seat in a white-knuckled clench, claws shredding the fabric and gouging out bits of plastic. "That is an extremely offensive question Dr. McCoy." She unclenched her hands and closed her eyes, taking a deep cleansing breath.

He realized that she was on the verge of slapping him across the face. "I'm sorry Quetzal, I didn't know."

"I know," She said tersely and took another deep breath. His innocent ignorance was the only reason she hadn't struck him. When she opened her eyes she still looked angry, but human again. "Not that it's any of your business but, I'm a Pegasus Class Chimera. Built for flight and meant to work in small teams or on my own for the rapid reduction of hostile personnel." She walked over to look at the screen. "I'm a combat construct." Her arms crossed over her chest. "I am extremely uncomfortable with cavalier attitude you have regarding my genetic profile. I want it deleted. I didn't give you permission to do that."

"Your information is perfectly safe. I just compare it to the other samples in the database. The fact that you're a – uh – a construct is invaluable. It gives us a control to compare other mutants to."

She turned back towards him with the adamantium-melting glare in her eyes again. "Perfectly safe? You were showing it to Wolverine! Did I miss his PhD in meta-genetics? That is my DNA code. It's my copyright. It's not for you to decide what it gets used for."

"Because you're a construct?"

"Because I'm sentient creature. You don't have the right to pirate my code. Now please, delete that file."

"The data is invaluable."

"I don't think you understand how upsetting this is for a levite. We still don't have the same legal rights as naturally born atyps. And there's a lot of people who think we ain't much more than dogs and have no business calling for equal rights. Dad pirated me and did his damndest to make sure no one ever knew that I came from a lab."

"Quetzal-"

Quetzal rubbed the back of her neck and sat down again. "Look, I don't want it stored, shared, or examined. I don't want it teased apart and compared. I want it gone. The data isn't just invaluable to you. It's invaluable to anyone who wants their own little collection of atyp soldiers. And the real thing is even more invaluable. If a scent of my code makes it out on the ether then there are people who would want to catch me and do bad things to me. And they would do bad things to anyone trying to protect me too. If you don't delete that and all the records of it, then I'll be gone and in the wind before dinner, and you won't see a feather or scale of me ever again. I'll be gone before anyone can think to look for me here." Her anger had built until she was breathing hard and digging her claws into the bottom of the seat.

"There's no need for dramatics Quetzal."

"Look at my eyes doctor. Ain't dramatics; it's God's honest truth. I will leave. I walk out that door," she pointed to the lab door. "And then I'm gone for good. And I'd just as soon not do that. I do like it here. I like it here enough that I won't let anything stupid you do put y'all in danger."

"Is it really that dire?"

She frowned, her anger mostly spent. "Yeah it is. Doc, I know that you don't mean to do anything bad with it. But there are a lotta people who would. Dark Beast was one of them. He made no bones about wanting to pull me apart down to my amino acids. Not to mention the people that-" she looked away. "That legally I might maybe still belong to the Perseus Corporation. The people that designed me."

"Alright then." He turned to the computer and with a few keystrokes, deleted her file. "You can trust us Quetzal."

"It ain't a trust thing. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me on purpose. It's a paranoia thing."

"That's no way to live, you need friends."

She smiled brilliantly. "I got friends, lots and lots of them. They've kept my family safe. They watch out for us, and we watch out for them. And now I've got you too." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know you wouldn't knowingly let anything bad happen to me. I just don't want y'all to get sucked into any trouble on account of me." Her smile dimmed only fractionally. "Anyway, I came down here for something completely unrelated to that. I need to have some antivenin made and I'm guessing you're the guy to talk to."

"Glad to help. Let me go get a beaker."

Hank raised the beaker to the light. There was a surprisingly large quantity of thin, slightly yellow-tinged liquid. "And how many people could this kill?"

Quetzal smacked her tongue to get the taste of the latex she'd bit out of her mouth. "That much?" she scratched her head as she calculated. "If you dosed it out there's probably enough there to snuff fifteen people. But I don't meter it all that accurately when I bite, so maybe . . . . . . maybe half a dozen."

"How long will it take for you to replenish the reserve?"

"It takes a long time. A snake will be back to full potency in a matter of days. It'll take me at least a week to get enough to snuff a man, maybe longer. To get the full amount back . . . . four to six months."

"Seems like a long time to be without your weapons."

"Pleeeeeeeze," Quetzal rolled her eyes and opened the fridge. She held up a clawed hand and clacked the claws together. "Most damage is done with these or plain old saliva. The venom is a last line of defense."

"We noticed that in your medalert, why is that?"

"You know how komodo dragons snuff their prey? One bite and the bacteria is their spit will drop a buffalo in 24 hours. I use Listerine and never eat meat rare and that helps, but still. . . . You don't want to be exposed to more of that stuff then necessary. It's a hemotoxin. It attacks the blood. It clots red blood cells together quickly, produces a spike in blood pressure. The heart shreds itself trying to pump the sludge. The hemoglobin can't move oxygen so the victim suffocates no matter how hard or fast they breathe. Nasty, nasty stuff." She dropped it into her other hand and stared at it. "Dad thinks that they built the rest of me around this stuff. So handle with care, alright?"

"Most definitely. Is there anything about you that isn't terrifying?"

"Awww, I'm a friendly little thing, doc. I just got assembled outta scary parts. Speaking of terrifying, I haven't eaten since breakfast and I could put a hurting on a sandwich. Join me for lunch?"

* * *

Quetzal had worked her way through two of her four sandwiches and just taken a large bite of her third when Colossus came into the kitchen. He'd been on a mission and she hadn't met him yet.

"You must be the new girl," he said. "I heard you kicked up quite a ruckus."

Her eyes were wide and she was frozen in mid-bite.

Peter got himself a piece of fruit and turned to Beast. "Quiet, isn't she?"

"Not really," Beast said.

"Well don't cause any more trouble." Peter said on his way out.

Quetzal clamped down on Beast's arm, choking down her mouthful of her food. "That was Peter Rasputin. Peter Rasputin just walked through the kitchen. Oh I get to tell my dad I met Peter Rasputin." She giggled to herself, with a weird hero worship in her eyes.

"You know him?"

"_Of_ him," she shook her head. "He's an X-man. I can't believe he's an X-man. That is just . . . woah, beyond weird. I mean . . . . weird."

"How do you know of him?"

She sighed and leaned on her hand, smiling dreamily. "I always dreamed of dancing with him."

"Dancing with him."

"The Moscow Ballet was the only company to embrace atyps. And Rasputin . . . . he was the second coming of Nureyev."

"Peter Rasputin . . . . a ballerina."

"Danseur. The men are called 'danseurs," she corrected him half-heartedly. "When my X gene kicked in I had to leave ballet. I just got too big and too heavy to lift. It'd take someone like Rasputin."

"Danseur."

"Oh yes, I had a vid of him in Swan Lake." She shook her head. "I wanted so badly to be Odette and to float around the stage with him. One of his last performances before he and his sister defected. And that was the last of atyps in the _corps du ballet_."

For once she didn't seem that interested in her food, Beast noted. "I'd think that muta – atyps would be an asset."

"Not really, all the _corps _are supposed to look uniform. Probably atyps that look completely typical could make it, but – that's not most of us."

Quetzal peeled the top part of her sandwich off and picked the tomatoes off. She usually picked her meals apart when she was feeling morose and introspective. Her sisters teased her about it and her dad scolded her. It was a blindingly obvious tell.

Beast had no reason to ask though, and she wasn't going to tell him. Illyana Rasputin was one of the _whos_ in Asylum that the half-truths were designed to protect. Iggy dos Santos was a Soviet "ex-pat" herself. After Iggy defected, she bummed around New York for a while. The ballet company the Rasputins started was one of her favorite past times.

Then there was the fire.

* * *

_The ballet company was burnt to the ground. And Peter Rasputin died there. Illyana had to be restrained from going in after him. Iggy was the one doing the restraining. Even before the ashes were cold, Iggy was forcing Illyana away._

"_Your brother is dead," Iggy hissed in Russian, struggling to maintain her hold. She'd never had much of an aptitude for comfort and wasn't about to start now. "He is dead and you can do nothing. If you go in there you'll be killed too."_

_Illyana wailed and tried to push away Iggy. "Why? Why did they kill him?"_

_Iggy continued to be of little comfort. "You knew this might happen when you left. They were not going to let you walk away. There was going to be a punishment for that. Now get up, you must disappear. I know where you can go."_

"_You are cruel. Do you not have a heart?"_

_The question puzzled Iggy. Of course she had a heart. A strong and healthy heart with a resting rate of 37 beats per minute. "Do you want to die?" she asked. "I will let you go and you can run into the fire if that is what you want. Or do you want to live? I will take you to a safe place I heard of." Iggy remembered something she saw on TV about a similar situation. It was worth a shot. "What would your brother want you to do?"_

_Illyana collapsed against Iggy. After a few moments she said "Let's go then."_

* * *

Iggy took her to Asylum of course. Illyana Rasputin became Yelena Ivanov and eventually settled in to teach dance to the local children. Quetzal knew her as a fierce, thin woman who demanded perfection. The year before Quetzal hatched Mme. Yelena was key in ridding the town of a zombie annoyance before it became a full-scale invasion. She was apparently quite the swordswoman.

_Flipping heck, _Quetzal stopped in mid chew again. _What must Mme. Yelena be like here in a world where her brother is a warrior?_ She turned to Beast. "He has a sister doesn't he?"

"Had a sister. She died quite a few years ago."

"Oh." So much for Mme. Yelena. Quetzal was surprised that she felt very sad about that. Mme. Yelena was still alive. And Quetzal didn't even know Illyana Rasputin. "This is a weird place, y'know."

"You making any headway with those history books?"

"No." Quetzal was down to the last piece of bread now. "It's boring. And how different can it be? This is just a variation on my home. It's got all the same places and people."

"My admittedly limited experience with dimensional travelers has shown that different places can be very different and still contain the same people."

"I'll get around to it." She bolted down the last of her food. "But Mr. Summers said he wanted to see me fly this afternoon."

* * *

Quetzal enjoyed the Danger Room. Rarely had she ever had such perfect conditions for flight. Warm simulated sunshine beat on her back, thermals rose underneath her wings, and a clear blue sky seemed to go on forever. She ignored Scott when he asked her to do a full transformation the first few times. Finally she snapped at him. "I told you, it changes my brain. I cannot control what I do. It's just instinct. The Creature – she's very dangerous, doesn't have a way from telling friends and enemies apart. Like a feral dog let off its chain. I don't do a full change _ever._"

In the Danger Room Quetzal stretched her arms out until they became broad wings. The feathers had a bold crimson and black pattern. A few powerful downstrokes got her airborne. She gained altitude rapidly. Glorying in the thrill of flight she performed wild aerobatics, banking hard, rolling, looping, stalling and diving.

The dives were incredible. At the nadir of the dive she reached a little over two hundred miles per hour. She would manipulate the size and shape of her wings for gliding, diving, or hovering. That wasn't the only part of her body that changed. Protective membranes covered her eyes during her dives, diaphragm muscles attached to her lungs would pull them sideways or back, letting her roll in the blink of an eye. To test her limits, Angel took after her in an aerial game of tag.

Quetzal dropped like a stone. As she fell, her body changed. A thick, long tail burst through the back of her pants. As the feathered tail grew, her wings did as well, compensating for the change to her center of gravity. She had been enjoying her flight before, but now she was ready to get serious about her skills.

She spread her wings and climbed into the sky. Warren reached for the tail hanging behind her. It was a tempting target. Quetzal whipped the tail forward, out of his reach, flaring the fan of feathers on the last quarter of it and throwing her wings wide and broad. Her momentum abruptly stopped and Warren shot ahead of her.

Quetzal was already gliding in the other direction, laughing raucously. She climbed hard into the simulated sun. "Come get me groundpounder."

In the observation room Wolverine was cringing inwardly at the sound of her laugh. It was like nails on a chalkboard. "How long do you think it'll be before Angel catches her?"

Beast shook his head. "He's a mutated human. His profile is essentially human, lots of drag. She was built for flight. I think she has an edge." An in depth discussion with Quetzal about her anatomical abnormalities, followed by a just as in-depth battery of medical scans, made it clear that her humanity was skin deep. She had been frank about her catalogue of features (as she called it). From venomous fangs to clawtip, she was a creature born for "rapid reduction of hostile personnel".

Quetzal was climbing hard and fast into the light. From Angel's vantage point, trying to track Quetzal in the bright light, he couldn't see her use her tail to make a fast flip. She was diving towards him. Feet stretched in front of her.

"I give her three minutes. Tops," Wolverine watched her drop towards her pursuer. "Angel has more experience than her."

Scott watched Warren make a last second dive to avoid impact. He looked ungainly in comparison as Quetzal zoomed by. "Five minutes."

"He has more combat experience. But I think she has him beat on blue-sky time. She said she's been flying since she was five." Beast watched as Warren dove after her. "I'll give her ten minutes."

Quetzal dropped straight to the ground, her wings lifted high on her back to achieve maximum velocity without compromising stability or control. Warren followed. As they rapidly approached the ground, prudence demanded that he taper and slow his dive. They were simply racing to the unforgiving ground too quickly for him to maneuver on his broad wings. He needed to slow down about thirty miles to regain control. He rose up and gained height to swoop down on her again. Quetzal did not slow. She threw her wings out and skimmed six feet from the ground. Warren dove after her and she dropped completely to the ground, rolling with the inertia, making him overshoot. She was off in the air again in the blink of an eye.

Watching the two of them tumble around the air was breathtaking. Flight was natural for both of them and their competition was coming down to the different architecture in their bodies. Quetzal had the advantage there. She could manipulate her center of gravity and change her the shape of her wings.

Quetzal managed to keep Warren from tagging her for nine minutes. When the tables turned she caught up with him in less than two. She had changed form a little more, stretching her legs and feet into grasping talons. She snagged a claw in his uniform and dragged him across the sky for a few meters before releasing him. While he flapped ungainly, looking like a sparrow in a hawk's talons, she laughed good naturedly.

And the whole time her laughter was setting Wolverine's teeth on edge. "Alright, the kid can fly. How is she on the ground?"

* * *

Wolverine tried his best to get over whatever it was about the new girl that was bothering him. He had been partnered with her for a training mission in the Danger Room. Quetzal wasn't any more thrilled than he was. Her smile was thin and didn't touch her eyes.

She was wearing a default uniform of flat black fatigues more suited to the simulated enemy than the X-men. Upon entering the simulation she took one look at Wolverine and collapsed with laughter. When it trailed off she sat up, wiping tears from her eyes on the back of her fingerless gloves. She looked up at him and started snickering.

"What's so funny?" he growled.

"I thought we were doing simulated combat, not joining the Masked Mexican Wrestling League." She giggled again and stood up, wiping simulated dirt off her backside.

Wolverine glared at her until the giggles dissolved into the occasional twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Are you done?"

"Probably." She gulped down the last of her mirth.

Wolverine took another look at her fatigues. They weren't standard issue as he'd first assumed. There were circled x's in charcoal shoulder patches, but that was the only decoration. Instead of the expected boots however she was wearing black canvas shoes. She noticed his gaze and picked up one of her feet. "Parkour shoes. Better for maneuvering and I can rip through them if I need toeclaws."

Cute. She thought the shoes were the problem. "Blue and gold are the uniform colors."

"Not very good for hiding though." She frowned slightly.

"Xmen don't hide."

". . . . I'll see to fixing it." She slipped the jacket off. Underneath it she wore a racerback sleeveless shirt.

At least she had planned for a full range of movement.

"You ever do anything like this before?"

She tied a black bandanna over the crimson braid pinned to her head. "I've had more than a decade of martial arts training." She bent to stretch, touching her nose to her knees and hugging her legs. "And my sisters and I used to play with paint guns in the woods." She straightened and lifted her leg behind her, pressing her foot against the back of her head. "Plus there was the heroing work I did with the Titans. It's not unfamiliar." Like a cat, she took her time stretching until he was about ready to snap.

"Alright kid, let's see what you can do."

"Try to keep up." She flexed her claws.

Wolverine ripped off his mask. "End simulation!" he ordered the program.

Quetzal looked moderately startled as the simulation collapsed around her, leaving a stark metal room. She flexed the fingers of her right hand, where she had been holding a handgun. The blood spatters that covered her face disappeared as well.

Wolverine rounded on her. "Tell me where a slip like you learns Special Forces moves like that," he snarled.

She blinked down at him with glittering eyes. "Beg pardon?"

The way she stared down at him and stood too close was making his hackles rise. "Playing with paint guns my ass. No girl of eighteen knows squad combat techniques and how to disarm six men at a go."

Her slow smile was more disturbing than the stare. "Maybe I've got a natural talent."

"Bull. Shit."

Quetzal rolled her eyes."I told y'all when I got here my dad was retired special forces. He wasn't exactly a My Petite Pony kind of guy. Much more comfortable taking us kids to the gun range. We would all go out in the woods after dark and play with paint guns. A few of his buddies moved to town when they retired too and opened up a martial arts school. I studied there for more than a decade." She puffed a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I told y'all I wasn't a neophyte. Don't know why you're so surprised."

Her answer made a kind of sense, and she wasn't lying. But it was far too pat for Wolverine's liking. "A bunch of badasses like that end up in the same one horse town and just decide to open a martial arts school?"

"How should I know?" Quetzal shrugged. "Maybe they always dreamed about being cowboys when they were kids. And Asylum's a very nice one horse town. Are we going to continue the simulation or what?"

He didn't like her answer. "You're hiding something."

She scowled back. "Like what? I told you I've had training. I told you have super fast reflexes. I told you I'm stronger than I look. I told you I've worked with another heroing team. I told you I learn physical stuff real quick. I told you my dad was special forces and I grew up with him teachin' me survival stuff. _What_ have I hidden?" She held up a hand. "Wait, I'm wearing my lucky underpants."

"Look kid-"

"I can pick my nose with my tongue."

"I-"

"I have Konichiwa Kitty tattooed on my butt."

He remained silent and glared.

"I get on well with dogs." She shut her mouth with a tooth-jarring 'click' when the full impact of his baleful look hit her.

"You're pushing your luck girl."

Beast interjected. "I'll finish the evaluation run with Quetzal."

"I want an answer from her first!" Wolverine said.

"I'd be happy to answer you." Quetzal's voice was irritatingly reasonable. "I'm just not really sure what answer you'd be satisfied with."

"I want the truth."

She took extreme offense. "I _never_ lie!"

"Quetzal," Beast said, raising his eyebrows. _Tell him, _he tried to project.

She got his message. Her eyes went flat. "Hank." _Ain't gonna happen,_ her narrow look said back.

"What?" Growled Wolverine, angry at being left out of the conversation taking place between their faces.

She turned on him. "I'm a predator okay? The Creature in my head thinks humans are _food_. Hunting is what she does! I _meant_ it when I said I'm a natural. Killing is in my blood. Always has been. I've had the instinct for it since I could walk. I'm not a flat-toothed agrarian like you!" Her face was red with embarrassment.

"Agrarian?" Logan repeated.

"Means farmer," Hank supplied helpfully.

"I know what it means. I just don't know what she's talking about!"

The red was fading from her complexion and her eyes softened as she forced herself to calm down. Her long grey tongue snaked out of her mouth to wet her lips. "I think you do." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When you go back as far as you can remember – you always knew how to snuff people. Cut them here, stab them there, hit them there."

Wolverine nodded.

"The same with me. Except when I go back as far as I can remember, I'm not grown up like you. I'm three years old."

"Jesus," Hank muttered.

"Don't blaspheme," she said mildly.

Logan's hostility was almost immediately replaced with sympathy. "Kid, there are ways to deal with that."

She laughed. "I don't need help 'dealing with it.' I'm at peace with that aspect of myself. I just hate being forced to admit it. People get antsy around you when they know you're a born killer. My dad was very good about helping me channel that predatory instinct into more appropriate outlets." Her smile was toothy. "God made the lamb, but he made the wolf too. They both have a purpose."

The sympathy faded as she cheerfully admitted to liking her killer instinct and her smile brightened, revealing her fangs.

"Maybe I should finish this up with Dr. McCoy. You and I – we aren't comfortable around each other."

"Yeah, a combat simulation probably isn't the best place to bond. She's all yours Hank." Wolverine left the Danger Room, feeling a little uneasy about turning his back on her.

Beast looked at Quetzal. "I would have thought it would be less embarrassing to just tell him you're a construct."

She arched an eyebrow. "And who spent their entire lives as a construct, you or me?" She put her bandanna between her teeth while she re-pinned her braid. "The only reason I told you," she growled around it. "Is because I needed you to delete that genscan and I didn't think you would without a good reason. It's not something I want to get around. Frankly, if you do it again I'm gonna slap the taste right out of your mouth." She put the bandanna back on her head and tied it in place. "There's a lot of people, typs and atyps both, who don't like constructs. And I don't like to think of myself as being four steps in evolution away from a hacksaw. I don't like others thinking it either."

"Quetzal, nobody would –"

"Do _not_ finish that thought. They would. They would and they do. And they never look at you the same afterwards."

"The X-Men wouldn't."

"Some of your best friends are constructs?" she snarked.

Beast reminded himself that she was a mouthy teenager and had no doubt faced a number of life experiences that led to her temper on the issue. He smiled. "Well, I know this one construct who's kind of growing on me."

The foul temper left her face and she laughed pleasantly. "Like a slime mold, huh?" She looked at the door Wolverine had left through and her smile dimmed. "Boy that guy doesn't like me. Last thing I want is to give him another reason to like me less"

"You don't seem to be too fond of him either."

"Yeah, well I got a reason. I haven't done anything to _his_ family. He flipping near wiped mine out."

Beast stared at her until he had her complete attention. "_He _didn't do anything to your family Quetzal. This isn't your universe remember?"

His point struck home. She winced and looked away.

"And Xmen are family Quetzal. You did attack us." He relented a little. "You weren't completely unjustified, but you did attack his family."

Her ears were turning red again. "You're right Doc," she bit her lip. "I'll try harder to get along with him. I'll apologize to him when we get done here."

"Don't take it too hard," Hank sighed. "He ends up in a fight with one of us at least every other week anyway. I think I've pushed him through the bay window two or three times myself. I'll go get changed and we can finish the simulation."

"Thanks."

Something occurred to Hank and he turned back to her. "Quetzal, how come you don't have such antipathy towards _me_?" He met her eyes. "Dark Beast did a lot of harm to you and your family too."

Quetzal frowned and scratched the back of her head. "Well, you don't growl at me." She shrugged. "Besides. We never had any flares with Dark Beast until about three weeks ago. The guy was evil but – it wasn't personal."

"And with your version of Wolverine it was."

She nodded. "Oh yes. Indeedydoo it was most certainly personal. It was all settled down by the time I was born. But my sisters had nightmares. Hell, my _dad_ had nightmares. The first time you find out your dad has a weakness – it makes a strong impact on a kid."

He frowned. "Makes sense. I didn't notice during that scuffle in the medlab, do you really have Konichiwa Kitty tattooed on your butt?"

She grinned enigmatically.

* * *

The grin left Quetzal's face as soon as Beast was gone to change. She remembered the night, shortly after Christmas, when she found her dad sitting in the kitchen, cleaning his collection of guns. That wasn't odd in itself, he did that every other week or so. But during the daylight, not in the middle of the night.

_It wasn't normal. Even at six she had absorbed enough of her dad's life lessons to know that when things did not follow the usual pattern, it meant something was wrong. And he looked weird too. _

_She hugged Mr. Scales to her chest and walked up to the kitchen table. "Dad?"_

_He jumped and the trigger mechanism flew from his hands. He never did that. He wasn't clumsy. He especially wasn't clumsy with guns._

_"Baby," he smiled at her as he picked the pieces off the floor. "You surprised me."_

_She set her stuffed raptor on the table and helped pick up the pieces. "Sorry. I was thirsty."_

_He got up from the table and poured her a glass of orange juice. He poured himself some more bourbon. He had been drinking from the bottle, but he wasn't going to do that in front of his kid. _

_"What's wrong dad?"_

_"I had a very bad dream." That was putting it mildly. As she grew up she would learn that this dream would wake him up in a cold sweat, occasionally sobbing or screaming into his pillow. It recurred a few times a year._

_She nodded sympathetically. Sometimes she had bad dreams too. About people poking her and stealing her from her dad and sisters. Sometimes she'd go into his room and sleep next to him. _

_"Wait here for a second." He double checked to make sure everything was unloaded and went to his room. When he came out he had a piece of paper in his hands. She was old enough to know about this now. Not enough to scare her, but enough to make sure she could stay safe. He told her the very simple version of the story. He handed her the paper. _

_It was a picture of a man. He had three long metal things coming out of his hands. The picture showed his face clearly. Quetzal thought he looked mean. _

_ "His name is Wolverine."_

_Quetzal knew the name. Her older sisters teased each other cruelly with it. When she got older she joined in too. When her father found out about it (Quetzal was in her early teens by then) he was horrified and furious. But it wasn't long before he joined in. They dispelled their demon by mocking it, regulating it to the same status as Bloody Mary or Candyman. (Say his name three times in the mirror, I dare you chicken! Better not break your promise of Wolverine will getcha. Better check under your bed for Wolverines. Gonna getcha gonna getcha.)_

_But that night in the kitchen, it was very serious. "If he ever finds us, he'll try to kill us."_

_She was quiet for a long time, studying the picture, committing it to memory. "Did he kill mom?"_

_"Yes." The whole story was so much more complicated. It involved shades of grey too sophisticated for a small kid and dark sides of human nature that he wanted her to be innocent about for as long as possible. _

_"Why?"_

_"Because he's a soldier. And your mom was on the other side."_

_"Like GI Joes and Cobras?"_

_"Yeah." He would later tell Quetzal about how her mom had been a Russian killer and about the friend that helped her across the Curtain. About unfinished business that took her mom out of Texas and sent her to find Victor Creed. And how maybe it was being with Sabretooth that got her killed. Victor dos Santos didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive that. Iggy had been a good person, and the two sociopaths had gotten her killed._

_"Is that what your nightmare was about? That he was gonna kill you?"_

_He hugged her close. "No Baby. I dreamt he was gonna kill you."_

_Quetzal hugged her dad back. Her dad had a weakness, and that was more frightening than any boogeyman in a picture. _


	4. Never Gonna Stop: Rob Zombie

Quetzal was a physical girl. A great majority of her time was spent working on her body, sculpting it and training it. From the time she woke up to the time she went to bed she was moving and eating. After waking up dawn for a hearty breakfast Quetzal went out for a jog.

"Are you half hobbit or something?" Beast asked her as she tucked into her midmorning "snack."

"I'm a flyer," she said as she tossed a handful of chicken into her salad. "I eat a lot."

She had programmed a simple ballet studio into the Danger Room and spent the rest of the morning there dancing. (She'd left off trying to convince Colossus to join her for her dance rehearsal after his polite refusals became exasperated.) Then lunch and singing practice in her room for an hour. After she was done singing she grabbed a piece of fruit and launched into any chores she had.

When her chores were done she was off doing yoga in the sunroom or weight training in the gym. After an hour or so of that she was ready for combat training. If there was no combat training that day then she was practicing her martial arts.

Done with physical activity she'd attempt to read the history books Jean gave her. But she was very easily distracted from them. She was a very quick study when it came to any physical demand on her during combat training however and didn't complain about any chore. Overall she was industrious, gregarious, and charming and rankled Logan in just about every way imaginable.

From her six meals a day to the hours she spent practicing ways to hurt people, she just bugged him. Her pealing laughter made him grind his teeth and her smile made him uneasy. And he hated the way she jumped if he startled her, on the way down her fingers were clawed and she was wild-eyed, ready for an attack.

Hank liked the girl, so that at least was something in her favor. She was also a hell of a lot more polite than Kitty or Jubilee had been when they had arrived. Quetzal was a southern girl raised on "no sir" and "yes ma'am." And Wolverine had to admit her singing voice was lovely. He happily stopped in the hall to listen while she was practicing her singing.

Still when she floated the idea of a drama department to Scott, Wolverine was uneasy. To let her around the kids seemed like a bad idea. But she couldn't cement a reason as to why.

Now squeezed into her schedule were tryouts and rehearsals for a student version of Hairspray. He hung around the Danger Room (she used the auditorium simulation for the practice space) to keep an eye on things. The students liked "Miss Quetzal" a great deal, but if she could fool Jean then it would be easy to fool the kids.

Quetzal had put a stop to his snooping around during rehearsal quite effectively though. The third practice in she'd turned to him, in front of the kids, and asked if he would like that much to be cast in the musical. No? Perhaps a stage manager? No? Then perhaps he had something more useful to do with his time.

Seething, Wolverine resolved to just stay out of Quetzal's way.

Quetzal was happy to chaperone the trip to the city. The trip to the museum was fascinating. The world that could have been unfolded in front of her. They were at the portion of the history museum that displayed modern history, the fall of the iron curtain. Quetzal was staring at the timeline. "No genetic arms race," she muttered to herself.

"What was that?" Jean asked.

Quetzal did a full body flinch. She turned to Jean. "The genetic arms race. It came after the nuclear arms race. Both sides trying to get around the mutual assured destruction thing by using applied genetics. The Cold War here, it ended much earlier."

Jean longed to get a good look around Quetzal's skull. She and Hank had sat down and tried to puzzle out why Jean wasn't able to read Quetzal's mind. For god's sake she could communicate telepathically with aliens that bore as much genetic resemblance to humans as fruit flies did. But the mystery (and Quetzal's thoughts) went uncracked.

Jean wanted to see the world the girl came from. The only thing she'd gotten from the flinch was a wave of self-flagellation, which made it even more curious. If she wanted information she'd have to do it the old-fashioned way. "What was that shudder about? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just . . . . it feels like strings being pulled out of reality."

Jean guided Quetzal a little further away from the kids. "It felt more personal than that."

"I just feel stupid for being so surprised by it. I should've read all those history books you gave me."

She didn't need to be a psychic to know that didn't account for the strength of the reaction. Jean made a mental note to gently pursue the subject later.

After they got done at the museum, Quetzal kept her eyes on more than the kids. It didn't take too long to find what she was looking for. A man leaning against a wall in a darkened alley, his eyes scanning the crowd for customers.

Quetzal grabbed Jean by the elbow. "Ma'am? I'm gonna make a quick pit stop. I'll meet up with y'all in a few blocks." Before Jean could say anything, Quetzal started to duck into a small Mexican restaurant.

"Where are you going?" Logan growled.

Quetzal didn't stop. "Lunch hit me a little hard," she said over her shoulder. "I'll catch up!" He looked like he might stop her so she prepared to hork up her lunch on his shoes. Lunch was giving her some indigestion and that would be one way to get rid of her aching belly. But he just scowled and shook his head.

Quetzal slid through the dining area and straight back into the kitchen. "_Pardon me_!" she said loudly in Spanish . "_Creepy guy following me. Please let me through._" Nobody moved to stop her. She didn't feel bad about the half-truth; Wolverine _was_ a creep as far as she was concerned.

Once she was out in the alley she approached the shady guy near the mouth of the alley. "Hey man," she said as she sidled up to him. "I'm looking for a pick me up." She flashed the cash she had in her hand.

"I'll help you out girl. What you want?"

"You have any coke?" Quetzal smiled coyly. He had no idea about the storm of violence she was about to rain down on him.

He smiled and reached into his pocket, turning his gaze away from her.

Quetzal picked up a piece of rebar and smashed it into his head. Not hard enough to snuff him, just knock him to the ground and daze him. She kicked him three times, once in the solar plexus and twice in the ribs. The ribs cracked and he fought to remember how to breathe after having the wind knocked out of him.

As he wheezed Quetzal patted his pockets. The cash went into her pockets and the drugs she chucked down the storm drain. Finally she found the handgun. An automatic 9mm, nice enough she supposed. Instinctively she checked to see if it was loaded. It was. She thumbed the safety on and stuck in the back of her pants, pulling her jacket over it.

"You bitch," the dealer gasped, finally working his way up to his hands and knees. "I'm gonna kill you."

Casually she kicked him again, flipping him onto his back. "Drug dealers are the second lowest form of human life," she growled as she picked up the rebar again. "I'd suggest finding another line of work." She knelt and covered his mouth with her hand. Before he could struggle away she slammed the rebar into his left kneecap, shattering it.

Her hand muted his shout of pain. His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

Satisfied with herself, Quetzal left to join the field trip again. She was feeling better about being part of a heroing team now that she was armed. An unregistered firearm was a fantastic asset, allowing you to deal with opponents before they got in arms reach, easy to ditch, and no one would be able to trace it back to her. Plus, she got a drug dealer off the street.

Her dad would be proud.

Three blocks later Quetzal's attention was abruptly diverted. Her dad called her 'bird brain' when she did that. She would see something that would completely divert and focus her attention. Nine times out of ten it was either shiny or food. So it was curious that a non-descript white van caught her attention. She stopped and turned towards a large storefront window.

She picked through her hair as if she were trying to get it styled correctly. Really she was examining the van behind her. Tricks her dad taught her. All little lessons she had learned from him. He was paranoid, and fanatical about how the nebulous 'they' were always out to hurt his family.

"Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean that they aren't out to get us," he would say when she pointed out how insane all this was.

So Quetzal examined the van and the driver, trying to figure out what exactly about it caught her eye.

The van was brand new. Not so much as a scuff on it. Every other work van she had seen was dinged and dirty. But what caught her attention on the second glance was the driver. It was a workman's van, but the driver wasn't a workman. He didn't look like a cop either. He looked like private police. Workmen didn't wear such expensive sunglasses.

Quetzal walked back towards the direction her friends had gone in. She kept her pace at a quick walk, as if she were five minutes late for an appointment.

Another white van caught her eye. She got a better look at this driver. It wasn't reassuring. He looked like private police as well. She made a sharp corner and walked a block or three, before making another turn. She trended towards the direction of Jean and the kids.

Another white van.

Quetzal started a jog. She kept up her random turns until she caught up with her friends.

"Feeling better?" Jean asked.

"Yeah, we might have a problem," Quetzal said very softly. She tried to formulate her vague but definite concerns into something concrete. "It might be nothing – but there are these white vans – I've got a real bad feeling. I think they were heading this way, boxing us in. The guys looked fierce. Paramilitary."

"What makes you think they're paramilitary?"

"They just _look_ like private police." Quetzal said, stymied. "I think we should go someplace safe."

Jean took a moment to scan the surrounding area. "I'm not picking up on anything," she smiled. "You're just letting your imagination run away with you."

Quetzal frowned. "Something ain't right." She wasn't used to having her concerns dismissed so casually. Her dad and sisters would already be looking for someplace to disappear.

Jean smiled. "If there was anything bad I'd sense it."

Quetzal was rubbing at her temple. "Yeah, yeah I guess so. Still . . . ."

"Don't worry about it."

The world was rocked by an explosion. "Can I worry now?" Quetzal shouted over the roar, unable to resist gallows humor.

"Get the kids out of here!" Jean helped pull her up from the sidewalk. The building across the street was in flames and looked precarious. The heroes had work to do.

Quetzal was hauling students to their feet and counting noses. Everyone was accounted for. "Come on!" She hauled on the arms of two who looked like they were going to run off and help save the day. "We have our orders – we vacate!"

"We can help!" the older boy said.

"You can help _me_ get the rest of these kids someplace safe. Take care of your own first, then the civilians."

The girl pulled herself free of Quetzal's grasp and went to the smaller children. Quetzal saw her grab the hands of two of the younger children.

The older boy was still argumentative. "We've got to help!"

"No!" Quetzal said sternly. She took a breath to argue her point.

A white van screeched to a halt next to Quetzal. She shoved the boy behind her as three men in black jumped out. Two more white vans pulled up next to her with more men in black. They had weapons drawn.

Quetzal's body was moving before she rationally processed the thoughts. This is what her dad had worried about, and this is what he had her trained to deal with. She shoved the boy behind her to the ground and lunged at the attackers. Her claws were already sinking into the throat of one man before she fully realized what was going on.

And in that split second when her brain finally caught up to her actions, she froze. _Flipping heck_, the world seemed to slow down around her. _I think I just snuffed that guy._ It was different than even the most super-realistic of hard light simulations.

That blink of time cost her. There was a sharp electric pain that took her breath away and made her drop to the sidewalk.

_No time to be hurt,_ she chided herself. _No time to puss out. Get up. Put them down. Simple. You aren't injured, push through the pain. Get up. Put them down._ The kids were dropping to the sidewalk too. Quetzal took one second longer to gather her strength before she sprung up. As she surged to her feet she drew the gun from her waistband and fired.

She was halfway through the clip before she realized they were wearing body armor. The shots knocked them back but didn't dispatch them. She switched to head shots. A much smaller target but hard to miss at this range. There were more men now and a few more vans too. Quetzal dropped two more men before she ran out of rounds. While she was shooting she stretched her feet out into saurian claws, with talons meant for gutripping tearing through her canvas shoes.

She grabbed at one of the rifles and pulled it loose from the man who held it. She jammed it back into the man's face and was rewarded with a sickening, satisfying crunch. The MIBs were all focused on her now. She was the active threat.

In this clinch Quetzal had the advantage. She had tighter reflexes and years of martial arts training. Combined they gave her parry and riposte reflexes the MIBs couldn't hope to match. She was in a fugue state, striking out wherever she had a target.

"Pull back!" someone shouted. "We got the primary target."

Three of the kids were grabbed from the ground. Quetzal stomped on the skull of one man who was on the ground and sprung after the men who had the children. She was a creature of pure intent now. She had to get the kids back. A rifle butt was slammed into the back of her head and she fell to the ground, seeing stars. Hands grabbed at her and she lashed out blindly, her claws sunk into something giving and hot blood washed over her hands.

When she was upright and could see again, she was surrounded by bodies. Two vans were pulling away. Scott and Logan had finally arrived on the scene. Logan commandeered a motorcycle and took off after the vans.

Quetzal was sprinting. As she ran her arms stretched into wings and they feathered. With a few efficient pumps she was airborne and her speed and altitude were increasing. She stormed through the air, giving sway to her prey drive. That bloody-mindedness that only allowed her to focus on her target.

The door in the back of the van swung open. A man crouched there with a strange looking weapon in his hands. Quetzal heard a squealing sound that was very nearly above her register of hearing. She had already set her wings and was stooping towards the open door as Wolverine lost balance and wiped out.

She hit the man with full force. His bones broke as she slammed into his body. The weapon dropped onto the street. She started to surge forward, but heard weapons being armed and beat a sudden retreat. She spread her wings and soared back into the sky.

The vans suddenly diverged, going opposite directions. Quetzal remained focused on the one she had just attacked. She saw the kids in the back of that van. They weren't fooling her. She stooped again and slammed into the roof of the van so hard her claws sunk into the thin metal. She flattened herself against the wind resistance and lunged forward. Hoping to disable the driver, she punched through the windshield. She ignored the shards of glass in her knuckles. Her adrenaline was up and her prey drive engaged.

The driver slammed on the brakes, pitching her off the roof and sending her sliding down the hood. She shouted something that, if her dad had heard, would have gotten her grounded for three weeks, never mind that she was trying to find purchase on the hood of a speeding van. She caught the grill and got a foothold on the bumper. A more drastic alteration was called for. She leapt at the same time she stretched her neck and face into a saurian nightmare. This time there was no escaping the strike. Her strong jaws clamped on the passenger's head (he was the one raising a gun) and she tore away half his face. The driver sped up, trying to crush her lower body into the car in front of them.

Quetzal quickly pulled her legs up as the van impacted. She was thrown in the rear window of the taxi, glass embedding in her back. Angrily she pried herself out of the vehicle and leapt into the air so she could catch up with her prey again. Her back was on fire. She stooped a third time.

She landed on the roof again. Several rounds were shot blindly through the roof. Three of them tore the feathers of her wings up. She wasn't hurt but she wouldn't be flying off again. She flung herself forward and reached through the window, grabbing the steering wheel. "Flipping heck!" she gritted her teeth and braced for impact as the van spun out of control and started to tip.

Quetzal threw herself free while she was still on top of the vehicle and slammed into a light post and then a car before she went skidding on her back across the asphalt. Stumbling and disoriented and in a great deal of pain, Quetzal tried to make her way to the overturned van. Pain didn't matter, injury didn't matter, her focus was on the kids. She needed to rescue the kids. After the dramatic fashion in which she killed the van she could only hope they were alright.

But the edges of her vision were fuzzy and closing in. There was a horrific pain in her right knee and it wasn't supporting her weight. _Not yet, not yet, gotta get to the kids. Don't you dare pass out, don't you dare stop._ But as determined as she was there was little she could do about her physical limitations. Where were the heroes? The darkness crept further and further into her vision. "Help!" she croaked. "Somebody help please." She fell, and couldn't quite gather enough coordination to get back up.

"Quetzal! Are you okay?" Cyclops checked her pulse.

She tried to shove him away. "Kids. Get the kids." Despite the rough way he'd pulled on her she was feeling infinitely better. The heroes had arrived. She could slip into blessed unconsciousness now.


	5. Gotta Get Away: Offspring

Quetzal paced by the window. She was furious. Furious with herself and furious with the accusing eyes that glanced her way. The children had not been the primary target, Jean had. While she had been busy chasing down the van with the kids, the other van had gotten away with Jean. What would her dad say?

_You did the right thing baby, rescuing the kids. And you had no way of knowing about Jean._

_Gee thanks pop, think they'll find it all that convincing? I screwed up. I bit into the decoy and they got Jean._

_You saved the kids._

_I could've killed them._

Quetzal spent most of the day in the medical ward at the mansion. It took Beast a few hours to get all the gravel and glass out of her. Fortunately the bony plates along her back protected her more delicate parts from damage. Two of the plates had broken in the impact with the light pole and every time she moved too fast it felt like broken porcelain. Her head was killing her too.

Quetzal picked up the device. It was the most exotic equipment the MIBs had been carrying. The weapon that had put down Logan was a sound rifle, firing blasts designed to mess up the inner ear. They'd brought devices to neutralize each of the X-men. Quetzal had been an unanticipated wild card.

But the weapons were not what caught her attention. "This is why Jean couldn't see them," she turned the cigarette pack sized device over in her hands. "It's bulky – inelegant and in my universe wasn't developed for another thirty years. But I recognize the basic tech. It's a psychic conduit. Used to conduct psychic powers over long distance. Each one has to be tuned to the wearer and designed specifically for the psi." She scowled. "And I know this design. It's specific to my cousin – Grace. The one who can make people invisible to psychics. That's why Jean didn't see them. Psychically they weren't even there."

"How awfully convenient you know all this," Wolverine growled.

The hackles raised on the back of her neck. "I don't appreciate what you're implying." She was on edge and feeling both defensive and aggressive. No regrets about what she had done. But still, she'd killed people. They'd been alive, and then she snuffed them.

"Then I'll say it outright. You're behind this somehow."

"I ain't!" Quetzal yelled. "And you got no reason nor right t'say that. None at all! You sunnuva-"

"Where did you go when you left the group?" Scott asked. His voice was calm, but Quetzal felt the accusation.

"I told you," she tried to keep the defensive snarl out of her voice. Emotion was making her drawl thick. "I wanted to pick up a handgun. I didn't think it'd be much approved of so I did it on the sly. Maybe y'all are willing to let an attacker get close enough to hit you back – but I sure as hell ain't."

"Where did you get it?" Scott asked.

"From a drug dealer."

Quetzal was pretty sure Scott's eyes were bugging out of his skull behind his red glasses as he sputtered. "You bought a gun of a drug dealer?!?"

"No," she snapped back, rolling her eyes. "I beat the crap out of him and stole it."

"Quetzal you can't do things like that!"

She blinked. "Why not. We're a vigilante group right? I got a drug dealer off the streets. It's not like he was just some innocent bystander."

"But you don't rob them!"

She blinked again. "Why not?"

"That assumes we believe you story," Wolverine interrupted. "You've nicely distracted us from that question."

Quetzal face turned red in an apoplectic rage. "I never lie!" She looked like she was about to leap across the table at him.

"I think that's a lie too," he growled back at her.

Quetzal gulped deeply and tried to force herself calm. She wasn't going to let him goad her into saying anything stupid.

"You would have had plenty of time to alert the guys who kidnapped Jean. They were prepared for us."

She tried visualization exercises. It wasn't working. The only thing she could visualize was wrapping her hands around his neck. The Creature was clawing at the back of her brain, longing to be released. The Creature wasn't angry. Truth and lies meant nothing to it. No, it was afraid. This man had killed her mother. He was a threat to her survival. Quetzal batted it down and took a deep, slow breath. "I did no such thing. Never would. They were waiting for us, but that weren't none of my doing." He voice was calm and low. "Now, I suspect that they've got someone from my cousin Grace's family. She's the only person I know of who can blank out Jean. The _best _case scenario is a simple kidnapping."

"Best case scenario?" Scott felt his stomach lurch.

Wolverine knew the girl was right about that much. "If they've got a mutant that can manipulate Jean, they might have a way to weaponize her. It's something the Genoshans _would_ do."

Quetzal nodded. "And I'm the best thing you got against a weaponized psion. They can't get into my head."

"Maybe, given the particulars," Scott said. "You should stay behind Quetzal."

"No I ain't!" Quetzal barely kept from shouting. "Jean's a friend a'mine too! And that means I ain't gonna just sit by and hope for the best!"

"I think the kid is right," Logan said. "I really think she should come with us."

Quetzal arched an eyebrow out him.

"Because if you do anything out of line I'll be on hand to gut you like a trout."

Quetzal's eyes narrowed and her stance changed so she was ready to spring. "You just try it little man. I ain't the one who'll be put down."

* * *

Wolverine kept his gaze steady with Quetzal's. Her eyes were impassive, like a wild animal. There was nothing behind her eyes except for optic nerves, no anger, no fear, no emotion at all. He knew she would attack if he looked away. Her head lowered slightly and her fingers started twitching. She was ready for a fight. Wolverine was prepared to draw his claws and put her down for good if she leapt at him. Hell, he was prepared to initiate the fight. It was crystal clear that polite and friendly as she appeared to be, she was a traitor. The time-travel story was some bullshit she fed them to infiltrate and facilitate Jean's abduction.

She smelled acrid. Either she was about to piss her pants in fear, or she was murderously violent. She didn't look afraid.

* * *

Quetzal kept her eyes locked with Logan's. Her father was right. Wolverine was a dangerous man and a personal threat to her. If she looked away he'd try to snuff her. She was certain of that. His eyes were locked with hers and they were filled with more rage than she'd ever seen. He was going to try to hurt her. Well, he would quickly regret that. She curled her fingers into stiff claws and waited for Wolverine to twitch. If he moved she'd go for his eyes first. Could he smell the sour fear soaking through her?

She'd tried to get over her gut-clenching fear of him. Tried to be friendly and win him over, but he was a mad dog. Unreliable and quick to turn on his pack. And he was pinning his anger on her, trying to turn the others against her. It was a no-win situation – even if she won the fight against him, one of the other Xmen would take her down. She'd be exiled. Quetzal suddenly felt how very much not one of them she was. She was different, she was other, she was a mysterious _who_ from Asylum. She'd never be a hero. And then logic faded as emotion spun up, fear mutating into anger.

"Enough you two," Cyclops broke the spell. He didn't realize how close they were to a blood-bath. "Quetzal, you're coming with us. Everyone get suited up. We're leaving in ten minutes."

* * *

Quetzal finished pinning up her braid. She was so upset she stabbed herself in the scalp several times trying to get it secured. "I should jes' leave 'em. I don't have to put up with this crap. Ow!" She rubbed the sore spot on her head and sighed before picking up another bobby pin. "But Grace is family here or home. And Jean – OW! – is a friend." She tucked it under a cap that matched her fatigues. "And ain't no . . . ." she glared at the mirror. "Ain't no dos Santos ever gonna leave friend or family behind."

* * *

Wolverine watched Quetzal as she did a final check on her equipment. She had been very still on the plane ride so far. Unnaturally still. There was something about seeing her go through her mental checklist that was gnawing at the back of his mind. It was something he thought he should recognize. She was inherently dangerous and untrustworthy, and even if she wasn't an outright traitor, she couldn't be trusted in a pinch. But damn if he could figure out why he was so certain of that.

She had changed her uniform to be more in line with standards, but not much. Her fatigues were a dark charcoal now, a navy blue X spanned the back of her jacket and dark yellow piping at the seams. The shirt underneath was completely black.

Scott half-turned from the controls. "Quetzal, Storm, you ready to fly?"

Quetzal took off her jacket and tucked it into the belt. She shook out her arms as she feathered them and stretched them into wings. "Good to go!"

Wolverine couldn't resist stretching and 'accidentally' hitting the switch to open the bay door Quetzal was standing on. She disappeared with a satisfying yelp.

Quetzal tumbled through the sky. She rejoiced in the freefall and turned a few somersaults and for a while fell facing up, gazing at the stars, diamonds scattered over black velvet. Achingly perfect and beautiful. "And the firmament shows and proclaims his handiwork." There were few things better than a night flight in such glorious weather. She arched backwards until she was face down and set her wings into a glide.

Storm floated down next to her. The night was quiet. "It looks like a good place to set down."

"I see a few heat signatures," Quetzal said. "Little big for foxes, not quite big enough for people."

Quetzal felt uneasy. She had that vague but definite feeling of dread again. Looking down at the clearing she frowned deeply. Something felt wrong. She thought about saying something but decided against it. There was nothing concrete. And anything she did have to say would just be discounted by Wolverine and Cyclops. Unlike Logan, Scott hadn't said outright that he thought Quetzal was somehow responsible, but she knew he was at least entertaining the idea.

_Besides_, she thought as she banked away. _This is what the Xmen __**do**_**. **_They don't need advice from some kid who's only done simulated combat insertions with paintguns. And it'd serve them right too if something should jump out at us._

She flapped a few times to gain altitude. It was probably just nerves. It was one thing to suddenly find yourself in a dangerous situation. This was charging up to the dragon's cave on a white charger, banners unfurled, and trumpets blaring.

_Geez Quetzal, melodramatic much._ She rolled her eyes at herself and found a thermal. She hovered there, watching the Blackbird land. Once she was out of the range of the wash from the wings she spiraled down to land. She landed fairly delicately.

"Quetzal, you're with me," Wolverine said. "I want to keep an eye on you."

She sneered back at him. "Try to keep up."

"Knock it off you two!" Cyclops snapped at them. "We've got a plan of attack. Follow it."

Quetzal shrugged her jacket back on and muttered "You know what they say about battleplans . . . ."

_They only survive until first contact with the enemy_. Quetzal found herself buried under a pile of dead leaves and peat. She had managed to burrow in with surprising speed and efficacy. Another mutant power or part of the instinct set from her reptilian genes? Whatever the reason, she hid herself pretty well when everything went FUBAR. As far as she was concerned _this_ X-man did indeed hide.

The soldiers had been waiting for them. The clearing _was_ the best strategic location to land the Blackbird – the only really decent location on the whole island. And shock troops had been waiting – prepared for the X-men's arrival.

She had been hit with some kind of sonic weapon. It scrambled her inner ear and left her unable to stay upright. Quetzal scrambled away on her hands and knees, able to escape because of Wolverine. He had come charging in, claws drawn. Whether he was trying to protect her or trying to snuff her in the confusion, Quetzal didn't wait to see. The soldiers turned their attention on him and Quetzal crawled and clawed her way into the marsh. She had no compunctions against turning tail and running when faced with an overwhelming force. As far as she was concerned there was at least one X-man who was perfectly happy to run away. Once out of sight she had buried herself in the muck. Her eyes were covered but she could 'see' body heat well enough to watch the action. The shock troops were wearing an armor that dampened their heat signature, but now that she knew what she was looking at she could make them out.

Wolverine was hit hard by the sonic device. He wasn't even able to make it to his hands and knees. Quetzal held her breath and pulled further into the muck.

_Run and hide_, she heard her dad's voice in her head. _And don't look back._

But she had to look. She had to know what happened. Storm had crashed into the ground after being hit with one of the sonic weapons. Scott was hit with some kind of electrified net that put him down. When Scott was captured she ducked back under the leaves and muck.

"Did we get them all?" one of the soldiers asked as they collared and bound the decommissioned Xmen.

_Yes! Yes you did! No need to look further!_ Quetzal squinched her eyes shut and projected the thought as hard as she could.

"No, one got through into the marsh. Couldn't have gone very far though."

Quetzal tried to wiggle deeper. The men were standing not even three feet away from where she was hiding.

"Which one was it?"

"Some new female. Sounds like the one who took out five of our guys back in New York."

"There any details on her powers?"

"Purely physical. She can develop wings."

"Get the nets ready then."

_That's not all I can develop,_ she lengthened her toes into saurian claws, one large gut ripping claw on each foot tearing through her boots. Her face lengthened into a muzzle and serrated, curved teeth pushed through her gums. She was dangerously close to being stepped on and fully intended to bring two or three soldiers down with her. Her mouth filled with thick drool, enough that it started dribbling from her mouth. She very carefully shifted her weight, the better to spring from her hiding place.

Hopefully they would just pass by. They were practically standing on top of her and were completely oblivious to her presence. If she held really still they might pass her by altogether.

The radio crackled to life. "Hold your positions. We'll be there with tracking dogs in a minute."

_Awww, flipping heck._

Quetzal slowly moved her weight further back on her haunches. She waited for her opportunity to make a break. She hoped she wouldn't end up having to snuff any dogs.

The three men nearby her clumped together to share cigarettes and a light. Quetzal decided that this was her best opportunity; not optimal, but as good as things were likely to get. She sprang silently from her hiding place. She tackled the man in the middle to the ground, sinking her teeth into his neck. A quick bite – a nip and a twist of her neck – and blood gushed into her mouth. She twisted around and up to bite the second man and took a chunk out of his thigh. Then she was running.

The trees were too thick here for her to spread her wings and fly, so she sped along the ground. If she could make it to the water she would be home free.

There was shouting and footsteps behind her. They were getting too close. Something nearly fell on her but she swerved quickly and nearly avoided it. Her arm got tangled in some kind of netting. She gave it a sharp pull to try to get free. It tugged loose from whoever was holding it, but her arm was still entangled. It would drag and get caught. Quetzal turned with a snarl and struck at the man closest to her with her free hand, her hooked claws tearing out a large chunk from his throat. She whipped her neck to one side and flung her heavy tail in the opposite direction to keep balance. There was a satisfying 'crack' when her tail impacted with one man and her teeth sunk into someone's upper arm, she tore out a mouthful of flesh with an easy twist of her strong neck.

Three men down and she was almost at the water. She turned to run again.

"Jesus Christ! Activate the net already!"

Blinding, searing pain shot up the arm that was tangled in the net. Her muscles seized and she fell to the ground.

What rose from the ground a second later wasn't Quetzal. There was no sentience, no conscious thought. There was pain, fear, rage, and _hunger_. There was killer instinct with nothing to temper it. The Creature had no interest in escape. The Creature instantly bulked out to its full size and strength and turned on the prey that had aroused its hunger and rage. She turned on the prey that was harrying her.

It was a bloodbath. The prey hectored her on every side, but they were soft and her jaws were strong. She bit and kicked and lashed out. She was being overwhelmed by numbers. The Creature knew she should run from these numerous little pests but it had been a long time since she had properly fed. And their squeals and yelps sharpened that hunger.

She was suddenly encumbered. Something was over her head, it didn't hinder her vision, but it tangled in her mouth. She tried to claw it off and got her right wing tangled. There was more squealing from the prey but it was more pressing to get the thing off her head.

There was sudden pain and blackness. The Creature was gone and Quetzal reeled in pain and confusion. She was covered in a netting and her senses were awash in blood. In pain and confusion she staggered and withdrew into herself, becoming human and trying to pull the netting off. There was another shock and she stiffened, falling forward into blackness and nothingness. Her last thought was a vaguely formed worry that being knocked out three times in one month was going to have a long term effect.


	6. Just Playing Possum: Alan Jackson

Quetzal gradually and reluctantly rose out of unconsciousness. She kept her eyes closed against the light and tried to evaluate her surroundings. Once again she was strapped to a bed with medical restraints. After a few seconds the noises around her resolved into voices and then words.

"Look at the CAT scan. Her brain is incredibly primitive. These large areas here are for sensory input. These smaller areas are where the information is processed. In a human this is reversed. With much larger portions dedicated to processing information."

_I did not know that about myself_. Heat patterns around her were starting to resolve in a way that made sense. A room of people, some carrying weapons, some were probably doctors. There was something heavy around her neck. _I don't like this. How am I going to get out of this? I don't have anything to keep back._

The woman continued to go on about Quetzal's brain function. "With brain structure like this she's probably got a very low IQ. If we tested her I imagine we would find she is severely mentally retarded."

_Flipping Heck! – That's my out!_

"I don't know," said a voice of dissent. Quetzal could hear the frown in his voice. "It doesn't seem like something the X-men would do. Taking a disabled child into combat."

"That 'child' is hardly a creature in need of protection. She took out six of our men in New York and actively killed four here. Three more are dying of infections that our antibiotics can't keep up with. That doesn't count the other injuries she inflicted. And the reports from her capture are clear. Even as far as mutants go she's barely human. They were likely using her as some kind of tracker."

A third voice. "I think she's waking up."

_Now is as good a time as any._ Quetzal opened her eyes. She looked around the room. Given the amount of weapons in the room she decided to play the compliant child.

"Hello," she smiled nervously.

The doctor leaned over her with a wide smile. "Hello there. What's your name?"

Quetzal looked away. "Not supposed to talk to strangers," she muttered. "Dad says."

"Well, I am Dr. Norris. You know what a doctor does right?" The woman's voice was low and soothing, downright friendly with only the slightest hint of her hatred for mutants.

"Doctor makes you better," Quetzal said softly, still avoiding the woman's eyes. She didn't have to feign her nervousness.

"That's right. I'm trying to make you better. So I'm not really a stranger. So tell me your name."

"Quetzal dos Santos."

"Well Quetzal, you got hurt pretty bad didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Can you tell us what you were doing here?"

"We're looking for Miss Jean." Quetza forced a smile. "Do you know where she is."

"I'm sure we can find her. Frank, will you take Quetzal here down to the registration area. LEt's get her set up with a bed and some food. Would you like that Quetzal?"

"Yes'm," Quetzal said softly, wanting to rip out the woman's throat.Staying meek and vacant was going to be hard. _Let's hope all that community theater pays off._

* * *

Quetzal leaned against the wall and contemplated her situation, careful to maintain her vacant, cheerful expression. Four days so far and the situation just seemed increasing desolate. Wolverine was being kept in a triple-max facility but the others had power-negating collars and were being put to work finishing construction of the compound with the other captive mutants. She was put to janitorial work, mopping and sweeping. She pretended it was the most she was capable of. Quetzal's work was pretty easy and gave her access to most of the base, and it was amazing what people said and left around when they thought she was too stupid to understand. But it kept her segregated from the other X-Men.

It was while she was collared that Quetzal confirmed something her dad had speculated about. Several of her talents were inherent, not the result of the x-factor gene the collars deactivated. She could still see heat and her ability to taste things in the air remained.

The implications didn't bother Quetzal. She'd always known that she was a construct and that her humanity was built into her as window dressing. Her dad was blunt with the truth when it came to his kids and had been frank with Quetzal about what she was for as long as she could remember. Besides, whatever was intended when her designers made Chimeras look human, her humanity did run deeper than her skin. She had sentience, she had morals, she had a soul; and all that was human enough for Quetzal. No matter what her genetics looked like, or what these anti-mutant idiots thought, she was human. God's special creature and daddy's little angel.

And at the moment she was approximating the situation she was designed for: a small scale incursion against an enemy that completely underestimated her. She just had to gather enough information to know where to ply her strengths against the compound's weaknesses.

Thinking about it in terms of being the viper nestled against the chest of the Genoshans made it easier to keep from completely freaking out when she woke up every morning to find herself with a heavy collar around her neck. Certainly the X-men were making their own plans to escape. But she was sequestered from them. She would make her own plans. Probably theirs would work first, but she couldn't sit idly by. She had never felt so claustrophobic in her life.

Cautiously she tested each talent. The very last thing she needed was anyone paying close attention to her. Changing forms was impossible so flight was completely out of the question. However her ability to hibernate remained; there were some definite possibilities there. In a hibernating state her heartbeat was so slow and shallow that her pulse was almost impossible to find. And she could still hold her breath for a good ten minutes with her heart that slow. It'd be easy to make them think she was dead.

It wouldn't do any good to fake her death inside the compound. Some paranoid nut had set a policy that all bodies were dosed with a lethal amount of potassium before cremation. But the collars were very expensive and removed before the bodies went in the oven.

And the collars had tracking devices, so she couldn't just make a run for it either.

"What are you doing Quetzal?" she heard one of the guards say.

"Hello!" she chirped. "I'm watching the birds!"

"Well you should be sweeping out the offices."

"Okay!" Quetzal beamed and scurried off to meet the rest of the cleaning crew. It was a group of mentally handicapped mutants who were deemed to be nonthreatening. She did her best to imitate them.

In the offices Quetzal dragged the broom across the floor without enthusiasm. Her attention perked up when she saw Beast being escorted down the hall.

"Fuzzyman!" she squealed and launched herself on him, wrapping him in a hug.

"Quetzal?" He was nervous around the armed guards but hugged her back. "Dear god, what did they do to you?"

Quetzal grinned and rapped her knuckles against her head. "I'm a cuckoo. Remember? I'm just a little cuckoo chick. I'm gonna keep being a little cuckoo chick." Then she went back to pick up her broom before he did anything that might give her ruse away. Maybe he would get the message.

* * *

Hank was horrified by what he had seen. He had been watching Quetzal as he was walked down the hall. Something had happened to her mental faculties. She was having problems remembering directions on where she was supposed to sweep. Her expression was vacant and her eyes were blank. The only time they lit up was when she spoke to him.

Scott was equally upset. "We shouldn't have taken her with us. She's just a kid."

"She's a cuckoo," Hank frowned. "She said she was a cuckoo."

"So they've told her she was crazy."

"I wonder," Hank said. "Maybe she hasn't been damaged. She said she was _a_ cuckoo. A cuckoo chick."

"And the significance to that?"

"A cuckoo lays her egg in another bird's nest. When the cuckoo chick hatches it shoves out all the other chicks. The mother bird is completely fooled by the intruder that kills her chicks."

"So what?"

"Maybe she means she's not what she seems. Maybe she's managed to infiltrate their nest."

"Then we need to find a way to talk to her."

* * *

The plan struck Quetzal fully formed as soon as she saw Toad. A way to get outside the fence and get the collar off. She smiled broadly and went back to dragging her mop across the floor, unable to keep herself from whistling cheerfully.

_Daddy always said that if you needed a fall guy you couldn't do better than Toad._

"What are you so happy about songbird?" the guard asked her.

Quetzal winked at him. "Tomorrow is going to be a great day."

Strong hands pulled Toad into a dark corner, one clamped over his mouth and the other was around his neck. He was shoved against a wall and his assailant started frisking him.

"Hey, how 'bout you buy me a drink first," he tried to jerk away as the hand ran up the inside of his leg. The hand holding the back of his collar gave him another shove into the wall.

"Shut the hell up," at least the voice was female. "One noise out of you and you're cat food. The cameras don't cover this corner." Satisfied he wasn't wired or a threat, she turned him around.

"I know you, you're that feeble cleaning girl who –" his face flared in pain when she slapped him.

"Watch your mouth," she hissed. "Now I've got a plan to get out of here, but I need a little help. You're it."

"What makes you think I'll help you?"

"One, I'll get you out of here. Two, if you don't, I'm going to snuff you. I've got a sweet deal going on and I can't afford to have it compromised." The look in her eyes was cool and predatory and Toad had little doubt that she would kill him if given an excuse. He recognized her as the particular breed of killer that was born that way.

"When are we going?"

"I have a few arrangements to make first. I'll let you know," she said. "And remember, should you get the urge to squeal like a rat, I'm the feeble cleaning girl. They won't believe you." She smiled brilliantly and it echoed something familiar that sent a chill down his spine. "And they won't find your body either."


	7. Are You Ready: Captain Jack

Quetzal finished sharpening the piece of metal she filched. With a hilt wrapped in strips from a torn bed sheet it made a crude but effective weapon. Her mind wandered as she rubbed the edge against the floor. She wondered if Toad believed her when she threatened to snuff him.

"That looks dangerous," her cellmate Alice said.

"Yes, you shouldn't touch it." Quetzal tested the point with her finger and tucked it under her mattress. She would have liked to share the information she learned with the X-men, but there simply wasn't time to find a way to do so. Toad was going to be intercepting her cleaning schedule one more time tomorrow evening. She had to take the chance. Briefly she thought about writing a letter out and giving to Alice to deliver. But that was far too risky. If the message was intercepted Quetzal's secret would be out and she'd likely be killed. And it would put harmless, sweet Alice in danger too.

She could stay of course. Just let the opportunity slide by. Wait for the X-men to come up with their brilliant plan, as they always did, and just follow along. Her escape could very well hamper their plans in the inevitable lockdown that would follow. But that wasn't her nature. She was never the sort to let an opportunity to slip by. And of course she was far too mature to go rubbing it in a few faces that she'd been able to escape while they hadn't.

"I don't think you should have it," Alice said uncertainly. Her purple compound eyes weren't emotive, but she was clearly worried. "We're supposed to tell the guards about dangerous stuff we see. People who have dangerous stuff get in a lot of trouble."

Quetzal smiled. She hoped it was reassuring. "That's why I'm going to keep it a secret."

"I still don't think you should have it."

Quetzal laid back and pulled her covers over her shoulder. "Don't worry Alice. I'll get rid of it tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Quetzal said her evening prayer and closed her eyes. She needed rest. Tomorrow would be a long night. Her human half was a bundle of nerves, so she tapped the reptile. It knew patience. It knew how to rest and wait for the right time to strike.

* * *

The next day Quetzal was ready to leave. It wasn't like she had anything to pack. She had the shank up her sleeve and was now simply waiting for her opportunity. Toad still hadn't been fully processed. He would be under guard, but otherwise alone as he was taken to the medlab. She maintained her reptilian mindset and no one seemed to notice that she was especially quiet and vacant throughout the day.

Quetzal had been left to her mopping without anyone watching. Her docility was largely unquestioned. She waited until Toad was walked by with a trio of guards. Silently, deliberately not thinking about what she was doing, Quetzal drew the shank from her sleeve. She slammed it into the neck of one of the guards. At the same time she pulled the stunner from the man's belt and jammed it into the head of the woman. The woman fell to the ground in a heap.

Toad was doing his part. He kicked at the remaining guard. The guard struck back at Toad, knocking him to the ground. The guard pawed at his radio to call for help and at the collar controls to zap the two prisoners back into submission.

Calmly, Quetzal grabbed the man's head and wrenched it to the side. His neck snapped and he died instantly. Still not trying to think about it she knelt and snapped the neck of the unconscious woman. Taking a deep breath she stood up and tried to keep her head together. Minimal blood, minimal commotion; that was good.

"Very nice love, you do this professionally?" Toad took the keys from the guard's belt and undid his cuffs.

Quetzal looked down at him with a numb sort of loathing. "Put on the uniform." She started pulling the uniform off the female guard for herself. We need to be out by the gate when the explosion goes off." She pulled off her pants and shirt.

"What explosion?"

It was just like a quick costume change, that's all it was. Just a costume change between this scene and the next one. Quetzal pulled the guard pants on and slipped into the new shirt as she talked. "The imminent one. Hide the bodies, I'll see what I can do about this blood." Quetzal splashed the bucket of water on the wall and managed to get most of the blood off of it. She used her and Toad's prison greys to absorb the red water and stuffed them into a trashcan. She was in a rush. The ad hoc timer she left in the jeep depot wasn't precise. If they weren't in a place to make a run at the gate then all of this would be for nothing. In the meantime however it would be his prints everywhere.

Toad returned from wherever he had stashed the bodies. Quetzal tied off her hair with a rubber band and jammed it under the cap. For a moment her knees threatened to buckle and her insides turned to jelly.

_What am I doing?_ _This isn't right. This isn't right at all._

_Firm up girl. You got to get out of here. You got to survive and then you can go all angst and worry about what just happened here. There's a reason dad taught you all of this stuff. Use it._

"Try to look like a soldier," she said. "We are going to walk quickly but oh so very calmly walk towards the front gate. On our way there is going to be a large explosion in the jeep depot. Hopefully that will be enough of a distraction that we can make a break for it."

"Then what?"

"We disappear into the woods."

"What about the collars? They probably have tracking devices."

"I'm not worried about that. Pull up the collar of the shirt to hide it. I'll tell you the rest later. I don't know how much time we have." She pulled the brim of her cap low and started walking for the door.

* * *

Toad followed the girl. She had some kind of plan and he was more than willing to go along with it if it meant escape. There was something terrifying about her that inspired confidence, if not trust.

As they approached the gate she slowed down. They got closer and closer to the gate. She was down to a casual stroll by the time they got to the gate and there was yet to be heard any kind of boom.

"You sure whatever you rigged is gonna work?" he hissed at her.

"The theory is sound!" she muttered back.

"Theory?!" Toad barely kept from shouting. She checked an elbow into his gut with enough just enough force to make her displeasure known.

"Blow this and I'll snuff you on principle," she muttered as they approached the guards. She smiled brilliantly and started patting down her pockets. "Hey, any of y'all have a light?" She waved a package of cigarettes she found in the pockets. She shook out a cigarette and stuck it between her lips. "Man, one hell of a duty ain't it," She griped. The girl was brilliantly nonchalant.

"Tell me about it." The man produced a lighter. "Three months in this miserable swamp watching these goddamn muties."

The girl reached for the lighter and Toad's heart jumped into his throat. She had claws at the ends of her fingers! There was no hiding them in this light.

Time slowed down as the girl realized her claws were exposed. She looked down in horror and then up again, meeting the guard's eyes.

Before anything else could occur there was a large explosion. The compound exploded into a frenzy of panicked activity. The girl snapped her long leg up into the man's head. He fell to the ground and she dropped to her knees on his ribcage and finished the job with a twist of his neck. She looked up at Toad. "I told you the theory was sound." She pulled the keys from the corpse's belt. "Let's go."

* * *

Quetzal's eyes were fully dilated in the dark. Between that and her heat vision she might as well have been running in broad daylight. "Try to keep up!" she chided Toad.

"What about the collars?"

"We have to get further away." She stepped over a root and heard him stumble on it behind her. She was not inclined to help him.

"Where are we going?"

"North. Into the swamps. Now shut up and run."

They ran in silence for a while. She kept her pace the same as his. It would be easy to outrace him, but that wouldn't get the collar off her. It would just delay her recapture. She wanted to make at least three miles before they were tracked, preferably five.

* * *

Toad followed the girl. The moon was up now and he could see the red blob of her hair. She'd lost her cap in the scuffle and hadn't bothered to put her ponytail back up.

He started thinking dark thoughts about her. Things weren't quite adding up. She said she needed help, but he hadn't actually done anything except hide some bodies. She'd set the explosion and killed the guards. He was just tagging along.

And how did she intend on removing the collars in the middle of a goddamn swamp?

The baying of tracking hounds disrupted his train of thought. The camp guards were now hot on their trail and recapture seemed imminent. "They're on our trail. We need to get these collars off!"

"I'm not worried about it. Keep running! Mind the muck!" She slid down a muddy embankment on her rear. Toad slipped and tumbled down, knocking her into the water. "Hurry!" she pulled him up. "Quick, get across. There are gators."

On the opposite bank Toad helped pull her up the slick mud. The dogs were getting closer. "Look pet," he pulled roughly on her arm. "If you know how to get these collars off, now is definitely time to pull that information out of your ass."

"Dunno." She smiled and shucked her muddy jacket off, tossing it into the water, removing his hand from her arm. Her teeth gleamed in the low light. "I said _I_ wasn't worried about it. I'd have been pretty flippin' concerned if I were you." She hooked one of her feet behind his ankle and gave him a sharp push in the sternum, sending him sprawling down the embankment he'd just helped her up. With a whoop, she was off and running.

"You bitch!" he roared as he thrashed out of the water and started after her. The dogs were close enough that he didn't care if their pursuers heard him. He just wanted to get his hands on that skinny little throat of hers. "You're dead when I catch you! I'll break your neck!"

Quetzal kept her careful pace and stopped at the bank to another creek. Toad was just a few yards away, with a murderous look in his eyes. She took a deep breath and shattered the night with her eardrum-piercing screech. "No! Please! Don't hurt me!" she screamed at Toad. Then she flung her head to the side and collapsed down the muddy bank, sliding into the gator-infested water.

Toad stood for a moment. Looking down at her immobile form and wondering what the hell just happened. Then the dogs were on him.

* * *

Quetzal's eyes were still open, the protective membranes protecting her eyeballs from the water. It gave her an eerie, dead look. Quetzal found it easy to keep a straight face as Toad was attacked, she was trying to get into a state of hibernation as quickly as possible. The guards pulled out all the stops on his recapture. They thought he'd killed four of their kind on his way out of the camp. Electric nets, sonic guns, and dogs. She felt guilty about what she'd done. Toad was going to suffer the beating of a lifetime tonight. The reality of that had escaped her when she'd crafted this plan. She'd never thought about what would happen to him

_I can't help him now. I still have my collar on. I'll make a special point to rescue him when I get back. This is better for everyone, even him._

_Yeah, I'm so sure he'll thank me for this_. She chided the voice of her justification.

Quetzal felt herself pulled from the water. She was in a half-stupor, having slowed her heartbeat and breathing to as low a rate as she could. In a few minutes she'd be in a full hibernation. As she was fished from the water she let her head loll loose, hoping the extra vertebrae in her neck would make it look broken. "Awww," said the stormtrooper as he checked her neck for a pulse. "Bastard killed poor little Quetzal."

"Shame. She was one of the easier ones to manage."

"Well she weighs a ton. Do we really have to bring her body back?"

"Nah, just grab the collar off it, they're expensive. We can leave her for the gators."

There was a click and hands pulled the collar off roughly. She struggled to keep hold of her last vestiges of consciousness. If one of them pulled out a syringe to dose her with potassium then she would have to wake up quickly and fight. But she was dropped back into the cold water. She let her face float to the surface and stopped fighting the growing dark. As the soldiers walked away she slipped into hibernation.


	8. Vengeance Aria: The Magic Flute

_Authors note: missed my monday update last week so this week's is twice as long. The Creature gets loose and things get bloody at the end._

* * *

Quetzal woke up as the sun started to peek above the horizon. She felt a little bit bad about setting up Toad, but not too bad to smile and greet the dawn. For the first time in a week she took an easy breath. She morphed into a partial saurian form and submerged herself in the water. Lazily she made her way downstream towards town, propelling herself by her tail, good aerodynamics gave her pretty good hydrodynamics too. All she had to do now was keep out of sight until nightfall and make her way to civilization. There was a town that supported the compound about fifteen miles away. No sense in getting there early enough to be spotted by the natives.

She dilly-dallied in the water, taking her time to get a full meal of fish and a few turtles. She found a colony of alligators sunning themselves and basked for a little while with them. Eventually in the late afternoon she got out of the water and found a place to bed down for a few hours. She buried herself under the detritus of the swamp, covered her brilliant red hair with her shirt, and went to sleep.

* * *

"Did you hear about Quetzal?" Scott asked Hank. "Toad took her over the fence. They say he killed her."

"Why would Toad try to escape with her?"

"Maybe Logan was right. Maybe she does – did - have loyalties we didn't know about."

"You think Toad really killed her?" Beast frowned thoughtfully. "I mean, do you really think he could? She's more than able to defend herself without her powers. I'm not sure he'd be a match for her without his mutant abilities." He went silent as he thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Maybe the cuckoo just left the nest. Maybe she took Toad over the fence."

"There's a lot of assumptions there. That she's been faking her brain damage, that she found some kind of weakness in the system that we haven't been able to find, and got Toad to go along with it before he killed her."

"Or didn't kill her. She can hibernate," Beast said. "Maybe she's gone for help."

Scott shook his head. "I think you're grasping at straws Hank."

* * *

Quetzal woke up in darkness. She started the hike towards town. It was about an hour away at a fast clip. When she reached the edge of civilization she was careful to remain in the shadows and unseen. She prowled around looking for payphones and had no luck finding one. So much for calling the Avengers.

Now she was looking for a pharmacy.

When she found it, it was an inelegant break-in; a smash and grab with a well-thrown brick taking out the security camera. The alarms were going off as she finished her shopping. She grabbed a box of hair dye, a t-shirt, and a manicure set then leaped the counter to the pharmacy. She grabbed as many containers of painkillers as she could hold and disappeared back into the night. All told it took her less than a minute. She retreated back to some shadows and was well away by the time the cops showed up.

She buried the bottles of pills deep in the trash of a dumpster. The theft of drugs was just to cover the theft of the hair dye. The t-shirt covered her prison guard uniform. Now she needed to find a place to dye her hair.

A restaurant that had been closed and abandoned for the night provided the answer. Her break-in was much more skillful this time. "Who would've ever thought dad was right," she muttered as she used the manicure set to disable the security system. "Turns out someday I did need to know all this stuff."

In the ladies room, Quetzal applied the dye to her hair. It would hide her scarlet hair under a heavy black color. She even smeared the stuff over her eyebrows. If she kept her hands out of sight and her eyes low then it would be difficult to mark her as a mutant.

As the dye soaked into her hair, she wandered through the dark kitchen. Quetzal was careful not to pick at too much of the food. She picked up a pair of shears and walked to the manager's office.

She was lucky. Someone left a pair of slacks hanging up. They were too big on her, but nothing a tightly tied piece of kitchen twine wouldn't hold up and nothing an untucked t-shirt wouldn't cover. It would be enough until she could get some decent clothes. She'd look shabby and suspicious, but not like she'd recently gone over the wall.

After thirty minutes, Quetzal rinsed her hair out in the big sink in the kitchen. After scrubbing out all the dye she went to the ladies room again. Wincing slightly, she took the shears to her long hair, cutting it to the point where it barely brushed her shoulders. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she was satisfied with the dramatic change. This was a matter of survival and getting back to rescue her friends. There was no time for vanity.

Quetzal quickly cleaned up, removing all traces that she had been there. She slipped out of the back and dumped the muddy, bloody clothes in the dumpster, burying them deep along with the cut hair. Satisfied, Quetzal wiped her hand off and set off into the night. She still had a long night ahead of her and a lot of preparations to make.

* * *

Overall, Quetzal's luck that night had been lousy. After the stroke of good fortune in finding the slacks it had been all downhill. She could not find a single way to quickly get a message back to New York. All outgoing phone calls were monitored and internet usage was censored to a few sites. Even if the mail wasn't searched then it would take days, maybe weeks to get a letter out. Her best bet to get through would be to go back into the compound. Some ranking official there was bound to have open access. And as long as she was going back, she'd bring the wrath of Asylum with her.

So Quetzal made preparations to get back into the compound, without the damned collar. She toyed with the idea of sailing in on wings, but would leave her vulnerable. Scarlet red feathers looked pretty badass and intimidating, but for practicality the color was a nightmare. It would be easy to go in as a soldier, but that would almost surely mean killing whoever she got the fresh uniform and ID from. She couldn't have them reporting the theft for at least 36 hours and that would be very hard to do without snuffing them. Every part of Quetzal balked at the idea of snuffing another person, especially because it seemed so very unprovoked.

That pretty much left the delivery trucks or risking her neck by flying in. And since she didn't like the vulnerability of flight, the choice was easy. Subterfuge was the way to go.

Now she needed to find a hardware store. She'd need explosives.

* * *

Quetzal breathed slowly, trying to remain both calm and alert. She was excited and terrified. The box she was hiding in was barely big enough for her to curl around her satchel of tools and explosives. Mainly she was counting on the soldiers being far more lax about vehicles coming onto the base than they were going off it. It was a good risk she thought.

The truck stopped. She heard the door open and assumed the truck was being searched. Her breath froze in her lungs; otherwise the dog might have heard her. She knew from experience that the coffee grounds she had scattered over the floor of the truck would trash the dog's ability to scent for a little while.

If her luck held then she could get inside the complex without killing anyone.

_Getting out will be a different story of course._

Quetzal shut her eyes and faded out a little to conserve energy.

She waited for a hundred molasses-slow heartbeats before she sliced the lid of her box open. She put her ear to the side of the truck and heard nothing. She opened the back of the truck in one smooth go. If there was anyone to hear the noise they'd hear it whether she opened the door just a bit or all the way open.

Still no one around.

It was a few hours until nightfall. She snuck to the laundry. The compound went through scads of linens and wasn't about to risk sending them out to be cleaned. Quetzal hid herself and her satchel under a pile of dirty sheets that wouldn't be touched now that the work shift was over. She closed her eyes and waited. She was really good at waiting.

After six hours she opened her eyes. She'd taken the time to thoroughly plan her route. The first stop was the kitchen. She was hungry and they used gas stoves.

Slipping into the abandoned kitchen was easy. She still had her manicure kit for disabling the alarm and picking the lock. The walk in fridge was unlocked so she went in and helped herself to a few uncooked steaks. It took less than twenty seconds for her to gulp them down. It was going to be a strenuous night and she'd thank herself for having the foresight to protein-load ahead of time.

Quetzal disconnected the hose that fed the gas stoves. She took out one of the extra slow burning fuses and closed it in the fridge door. It wasn't necessary to have very precise timing here. She just wanted a big boom to divert resources after she set her primary explosion. She couldn't get out fast enough after she lit the fuse. Quetzal snuck out through the window and sealed it before she started towards the triple-max compound. She wanted to get Wolverine out first. If the triple-max locked down before anyone could get to him it might be impossible to unseal.

Quetzal dug into her satchel and took the first of the explosives she'd made out. _Like dad always said, if you can't break in quietly, make as big a boom as you can._ And this thing would make a big boom. She wedged it against a window and lit the fuse. Opting for speed over stealth, she slipped around the corner.

The explosion was deafening. Her ears were ringing and acrid smoke stung her nostrils. She counted to ten and then tossed a pipe bomb towards the first explosion. It was a vicious mixture of fertilizer, diesel gas, nails, and rat poison. The fuse was so short she barely had time to duck around the corner. The second explosion hit all the first responders.

Quetzal stopped long enough to raid a pair of handguns from the bodies on the ground. She tried hard to keep from looking too long at the mutilated forms. _They'd have done worse to me if given a chance._ The gas in the kitchen must have reached the fuse because it exploded with enough force to make the earth shake under her feet. The compound was rapidly turning into a crazed anthill.

She charged through the entrance she had made herself. She fired at the soldiers who blocked her path and one "doctor" who came at her with a scalpel.

Quetzal helped herself to the slightly bloodied lab coat. Even with the satchel she figured she'd look more like one of the besieged and the attacker. She scrambled through the offices, yanking out drawers, overturning furniture, looking for keys.

In the third office she found a key to unlock collars.

She trotted down the hall to the cells, yelling at the soldiers she passed. "We're under attack! Get out there and do something about it!"

So far her plan based purely on her dad's old war stories (and hours spent building explosives together in the garage) was actually working. She wasn't quite sure she'd get this far. This only had to hold together for another minute or so. Once she sprung Wolverine then he'd take care of the rest.

Quetzal arrived at Wolverine's cell, bypassing a few soldiers who didn't give her a second look. He was strapped to a gurney and a few IVs were feeding into his arms. His eyes were closed and it didn't look like he was breathing. She opened the cell and ran over to him.

He was still breathing, it was shallow, but he was breathing. Quetzal picked up the medical chart and scanned the drugs and dosages. Everything she recognized from her dad's vet clinic (about a quarter of the list) was sedatives, downers, and anesthetics. She whistled through her teeth. "Flipping heck," she muttered. "They got you on enough here to drop Elvis – twice. I'm surprised you aren't on a respirator." She pulled out the IV feeds and opened the collar. "Let's give you a hand there."

Quetzal leaned down to check his pulse. It was racing. "Oh flipping heck."

His eyes snapped open.

She smiled. "Oh good, you're awaaa-yaaaak!" He knocked her to the ground and wrapped his hands around her throat.

"I knew you were one of them!" he was practically frothing at the mouth. His knees straddled her arms and he drew back a fistful of claws, ready to impale her.

Quetzal snapped back at him. "I'm the flipping rescue you dolt! How do you think the collar got off? Now get off of me before I break your nose."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Like I would take of your collar off and wake you up if I were one of the bad guys." She was more pissed than scared. "Even if I were a bad guy do you honestly think I'm that flipping dumb? Now get off of me!" She glared back as she contemplated how best to break his nose.

After a few moments Wolverine's grip loosened and he let her up. "I still don't trust you. Where are the others?"

"I don't like you either," she growled as she rolled to her feet. "But we're on the same flipping side. We have to go get them." Quetzal slung her satchel back on her shoulder. "I'm the only one who got loose."

"And I wonder how that happened. Did they let you go?"

She barely resisted the urge to slap him. "No. Look, we don't have time for you to give me the third degree. We have to get out before they seal this building." Quetzal checked to see how many rounds there were left in the handguns. She thumbed the safety on one of them and dropped it in her satchel.

"What do you have in there?"

"A lot of explosives. Mostly pipe bombs. A few flash bombs too."

"Where did you-"

"I made them. I was in the wind for about 24 hours and I robbed a hardware store." She showed one to Wolverine.

He turned it over and tried to figure out why he was having déjà vu. "How does a kid like you know this stuff?"

Quetzal started moving. "Ever hear of a little thing called the internet? Full of instructions for stuff like this." She rolled her eyes and left. Wolverine did follow behind her. She peeked around the corner into the corridor. "You want to get these guys?" Quetzal asked.

"Ladies first."

"Says the guy with the healing factor." Quetzal muttered and pulled out one of the flash bombs and lit the fuse. "Cover your eyes." She tossed the packet around the corner, squeezing her eyelids and protective membranes shut. After the 'foomf' and the bright flash, Quetzal rounded the corner.

She closed her eyes. With her heat vision it was easy to pretend she was target shooting, that they weren't real people. Five shots, five kills.

"Good shooting."

She just grunted. She didn't want to think about how good her shooting was.

Quetzal and Wolverine quickly cleared the way to the front of the building. He had a lot of rage to work off and Quetzal was more than happy to lag back. All this blood was leaving her with a bad taste in her mouth. Literally and metaphorically.

She shook her head to clear it. _This is life and death baby. Do what you have to do to get out with your skin and your friends intact. Do what you need to do to survive. Snuff them before they can snuff you._ She promised herself she could have a nice little mental breakdown when this was all over. Preferably in a sauna at a nice spa.

Once they were outside Quetzal filled her lungs with the clear air. She felt infinitely better with the open sky above her. She turned to Wolverine. "So now what?"

"What do you mean, 'now what'?"

"I mean this is all the further my plan went."

"You don't have a way out?"

"I barely flipping got a way in. I've been lucky so far, it's gonna run out soon." She grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a deep shadow. "You're flipping Weapon X, I'm an eighteen year old girl. You're in charge." She checked the magazines of her handguns and handed him the one with more rounds. "Jean's in the administration building to the north. Whatever they wanted her for, I don't think it's been turned on yet. Everyone else is in the barracks to the east."

He shoved the firearm away. "I'll get Jean, you get the others."

Quetzal strongly suspected he was trying to get her killed. "I ain't that lucky and I don't have that many explosives. I'm goin' with you whatever you decide."

He thought it over. Quetzal could see his stress as his instincts fought against his logic. "Let's start with the others then."

* * *

Quetzal made Wolverine nervous. In the field she was just as good as she was in the Danger Room. She had no jangling nerves, she didn't make any wise cracks to lessen her tension; she was completely professional and dispassionate. She quickly and naturally fell into a support position. Either she'd done this sort of thing before or somewhere in her brain she couldn't tell the difference between the hard-light simulations of the Danger Room and real life. Neither possibility was a good one as far as Wolverine was concerned.

She holstered her handguns in favor of a rifle as soon as she got her hands on it. And despite never having run any similar training simulations, she was good at picking positions to fire from. This was more than natural predatory instinct, it was practiced skill.

"I'm a country girl," she said when she caught him giving her a look. "Never missed a hunting season." She slammed another magazine home and drew the bolt back to chamber a round. "When it comes down to it the basics are all the same."

"Doesn't explain why you know how to use an automatic rifle."

Her golden eyes rolled in her skull. "Dad was retired special forces living in the middle of nowhere Texas. We had guns. We had lots and lots of guns. Our friends had lots and lots of guns. About the only thing I didn't learn how to fire was a grenade launcher."

Again, one of her pat answers that made complete sense. But it certainly didn't make him feel any more comfortable.

She misinterpreted his expression and glared at him. "Look, when you have a little girl you can raise her any way you like. In the meantime don't you dare say a bad word about my dad."

Two of the explosives Quetzal left as they made their way over to the barracks went off. More soldiers went running from the barracks to look for Wolverine and Quetzal near there.

"You stay twenty yards back. If I get mobbed shoot them all."

"I'll hit you."

"Don't worry about it."

"You're the boss."

"That does _not _mean _try_ to hit me."

Her teeth were brilliant in her smile. "Course."

Very few of the rounds Wolverine was hit with came from Quetzal. She left her weapon on three-shot burst to maintain control, for which he was glad. It hurt like a sonnuvabitch to get hit with an weapon on full automatic and a soldier using the 'spray and pray' method. In the meantime he did his best to make sure none of the soldiers got a chance to take a well-aimed shot in Quetzal's direction.

When they got to the door of the barracks, Quetzal stooped to pat down the pockets of one of the fallen guards.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Looking for a passcard. You know, to unlock the door."

Wolverine slashed the door open.

"Oh, right." Quetzal pocketed the passcard.

* * *

Quetzal hung back as Wolverine went down the corridor looking for the other X-men. Quetzal stopped in front of Toad's cell. She didn't have adamantium claws, but she did have the passcard.

"You bitch," he growled through split lips. He'd been beat halfway to hell.

Quetzal felt immediate guilt. She was responsible for what happened to him. With a little effort she quashed it down. She'd done what she needed to do. "You want out or not?"

"I'm going to kill you."

Quetzal swiped the passcard and opened the door. Before Toad could leave she surged in, pushing him down to the ground. She planted a boot on his sternum and leaned enough to make it hard for him to take a full breath. "Toad, I don't want to have to kill you. I told you I needed your help to get out of here, and you were an immense help. I literally could not have done it without you. Thank you. I promised I'd get you out of here if you helped me escape. You did and I keep my promises." She leaned a little further and he grabbed her leg, trying to throw her off balance. She casually pulled the handgun from her waistband and pointed it at his head. He stopped moving and just stared balefully at her. "It's all one to me if you leave in a bodybag however." And she leaned a little more still. For a moment she let silence hang, as if she were debating his fate. "Now then," she said slowly and softly. "Are you going to take this opportunity to make your escape? Or are you going to try to do something extremely foolish?"

Of course he couldn't completely back down. "Next time I see you," he wheezed. "You're dead."

She lifted her foot. "We'll see."

"This isn't over," he growled at her.

"Yes, it is. And the sooner you realize that the happier we'll both be." She heard Wolverine shouting for her and backed out of the cell, not turning her back on Toad. He spared one last vitrolic look at her before heading the opposite way and hopefully out of her life.

Quetzal trotted up to where the X-men were waiting. Wolverine had already taken care of the collars and she could tell they were spoiling for a fight. Beast grinned when he saw her. "The cuckoo flew back to the nest?"

She grinned back. "Someone's gotta kick you chickies out."

"Let's go get Jean," Scott said. From the tone in his voice Quetzal was glad she was not going to be on the other end of things when they did find Jean. And then she remembered the psychic conduit and felt a similar hatred rise in her. She had family here.

Still, as the X-men started forward and the other freed mutants started tearing the place apart, Quetzal allowed herself a moment to relax and smile.

It had worked. She had sprung her friends. Her plan, based on her dad's war stories and hours spent at the rifle range and building explosives in the garage worked. She took two breaths to bask in the glow of success than ran to catch up to the others.

* * *

Quetzal was barely needed for the rest of the assault. And she was okay with that. Everything she'd done over the past forty-eight hours was starting to catch up with her. It certainly wasn't the physical stresses that were making her want to curl up in a quiet corner. The only thing that was keeping her feet moving forward was knowing that there was still work to be done. There was still Jean and there was still one of her relatives at the end of this.

_Hold it together just a bit longer. For goodness sake don't start thinking now!_

Any strength lent to her by adrenaline and anger was fading. When they reached the outer perimeter of the administration building she was feeling wiped out. The Creature was stirring restlessly at the base of her mind. She didn't dare let it get even a clawtip into her thoughts. It was scratching with a hunger sharpened by the scent of blood. Beyond the hunger was fear, a strong desire to permanently end the threats that surrounded her.

And if the Creature got loose she wouldn't have the strength to rein it in. And it would go after her friends as quickly as it went after their enemies. Might go after Wolverine even faster.

_The smart thing to do,_ Quetzal rubbed her temple. _Would be to slink off and sleep somewhere. Get a bite to eat. Get my strength back before the Creature gets out. That'd be the smart thing. _

But she couldn't back down now. She refused to acknowledge weakness on her first real mission. She had to prove she could keep up with the others.

_This is stupid. The others have slept well in the past twenty-four hours. The others don't have a programmed killing machine in their heads. Keeping the Creature down is robbing you of important instincts; you'll be a flipping liability soon. Just draw them a map of the basement and call it a night already._

She ignored herself. "I could go blow the generator," Quetzal said when they stopped for a quick breath. "It'll decrease the odds that whatever they've got Jean in can be turned on. It wasn't operational two days ago, but it might be now."

Scott shook his head. "You're the one that knows the layout of the basement. And if they do have Jean hooked up you might be the only one here immune to that. Beast, you take care of the generator."

Quetzal nodded and turned to Beast. "Stay safe."

Wolverine, Scott, and Storm had cut through the first two floors of the admin building when the power went out. Emergency lighting dully illuminated the halls. Quetzal didn't like the dim red light, it reminded her too much of the blood-soaked vision of the Creature.

"How much further?" Scott asked.

"I think another two floors down," Quetzal said. "Then we go . . . " she turned the map around in her head. "East. Yes, that should be right. There'll be more security as we get further down. All the labs are pretty tightly guarded. I don't know a great deal of detail about the area because the cleaning crews were never allowed there." She was blathering, telling them things she'd already mentioned. Quetzal forced herself to shut up. "Next floor down is probably where they'll be waiting with the specialized weaponry."

Scott nodded. "What's below us right now?"

Quetzal closed her eyes and concentrated on fitting the various maps and diagrams together.

"Quetzal."

"One second, one second," she put the final piece in. "Nothing. Just some hallway."

"Good." Cyclops lifted his glasses, aiming a full strength optic blast through the floor.

Quetzal leapt about three feet backwards in surprise, backing into Wolverine. He smiled at her. "That's why he's the boss."

Storm was already filling up the area with a thick fog.

"Stay back for a minute," Cyclops nudged Quetzal away from the gaping hole. "There's always some panic fire when this happens."

Quetzal happily backed away from the hole as shots rang out. There was also the high pitched whine that was nearly above her range again. "Back up!" she shouted at Wolverine.

It took thirty seconds to recharge the sonic weapon after it had fired. And Quetzal's heat vision made it as plain as day. She locked onto it and her prey drive kicked in. She leapt down the foggy hole towards it, claws spread. There were shouts above her but she was locked onto her prey.

Quetzal impacted with the man holding the rifle. It clattered to the ground and she raked her claws across his face. She grabbed his handgun from the holster at his hip and fired into his chest.

Wolverine landed behind her. "Dammit girl what are you-"

She wheeled on him, hooking her leg behind his ankle and giving one of his shoulders a sharp push and pulling on the opposite arm. Not enough time to tell him that she was hearing the whine again. The blast hit her at full strength.

Quetzal collapsed on top of Wolverine. The world was tilting at funny angles and she was concentrating on not throwing up. He roughly shoved her away and her world went careening in circles again. She threw up then. There was some shouting and screaming and the sound of clothing, flesh and bone being hacked apart. She smelled a great deal of red meat and her mouth started watering. The instant revulsion at the idea of salivating over human flesh made her throw up again.

Storm was down next.

"Mind your step," Quetzal moaned, her face pressed against the cold floor. "The floor's a little slick." She laughed weakly.

Storm dropped to a knee and pressed her fingers against Quetzal's neck. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Be there in a minute."

"Which door Quetzal? Where do we find Jean?"

Quetzal was recovering from the blast surprisingly quickly. "I can't tell. I've lost my orientation. There's four labs on this level. And I –"

Storm's face went blank. She was still for a moment, as if listening to something very far away, then she collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut.

Now Quetzal was frantically checking Storm. Her heart rate was normal and she was breathing fine. There was no blood and her pupils were reacting like they should be.

_Cutting the power didn't work. They must have activated Jean for whatever they wanted to do._ The fog was dissipating; Quetzal crumpled to the ground and shut her eyes before she could be found upright and conscious.

Laying there quietly, Quetzal was having a hard time keeping her thoughts in order. She kept spacing out, apparently she wasn't completely immune to the effects. And when her attention started to drift the Creature was right there trying to wedge further into her consciousness.

This wasn't going to work much longer. The Creature was going to get out and it was going to be bloody. A whole host of genetic memories were screaming at Quetzal that she had to get up and start killing.

There were voices over her. "We got the telepath working for us. There's no reason to keep them alive anymore. Kill them all."

So Quetzal gave up the last bit of control on the Creature, there didn't seem to be anything to lose.

* * *

The Creature surged to the surface. She greeted the world with an angry roar that rattled off the walls of the corridor. She was awake, she was angry, and she was hungry. More than that, this was familiar. It echoed in her genes and her instincts in the same way that a spider knows how to build a web from birth.

Her thoughts were dim and dull, without the hard edges and bright sparks of human thought. Nothing that Jean would have recognized as sentience. _We know this. We like this. _Instinctively she looked around for her sisters, other Pegasus Chimeras to coordinate the hunt with. _We are alone. This is good too._

The Creature had little care for what the internal mechanisms in her body were doing, but she was optimizing for killing as she launched into the crowd of soldiers. The bony plates in her back extended around her belly to protect her organs in a flexible internal armor. Her mouth extended, filling with serrated fangs and venom glands, the muscles along the jaw increased her bite strength to more than a thousand pounds per square inch. Her sternum sharpened in angle to a keelbone, presenting less target area as she fell into a semi-quadrapedal stance on the knuckles of her wings. Fluffy scarlet feathers made it difficult to tell where the meat of her body began and insulated her against many kinds of attack. Her legs became raptor-like, coiled steel haunches and a large gutripping talon on each foot. Once her neck and tail had extended to their full length, turning the seven foot radius around her into a killzone.

That was what crashed into the crowd of soldiers; a Creature nearly invulnerable to small arms fire and able to sever limbs with a single, effortless bite. She tore into her prey with an animal savagery coupled with mechanical efficiency.

And she was pleased with herself. Pleased with the situation.

She flared her wings and reared up, shrieking at the top of her lungs. As she came down she brought one wing down on a man and slashed the claws of the other wing across the throat of another. Her mouth clamped onto a third man, crushing his collarbone and ribcage into pulp. A twist of her neck killed him and threw him and two comrades into the wall with bone shattering force. She swallowed what was left in her mouth.

The Creature's bulk nearly filled the corridor, and it certainly wasn't possible to get past her. She advanced implacably.

There was the high-pitched whine the sonic rifle emitted right before it was fired. The Creature knew the affect it had on her human half and leapt through four men to clamp her jaws on the rifle, wrenching it and the shooter's arms away.

Then a net was thrown at her. The Creature felt something near contempt that they thought she'd fall for the same trick again. She half ducked and grabbed the edge of it in her teeth, flicking it back at the direction it had come just as the electricity seared her lips. It had a satisfying effect, briefly filling the air with a shriek of pain.

The guards retreated behind a bulkhead door. The corridor started to fill with an acrid gas. The Creature might have laughed if she'd had a sense of humor. The protective membranes slid over her eyes and her nostrils sealed shut. She could hold her breath for half an hour if she had to.

Stymied by the door, the Creature probed at the human part of her mind. It was useful for problem solving.

At least it would be if it would stop mewling about injured comrades.

The human directed attention to a man on the floor. The Creature instantly recognized the heat signature.

Mission priorities started shifting around in her head. This man was a primary target in any circumstance.

The force with which the human mind surged forward almost slapped the Creature down. It's thoughts on the matter were clear. _No! Not now! Not here! I will not let you!_ The Creature didn't think the human had enough strength to rally to the front of the brain, but she acquiesced anyway. Then the human showed her a neat trick.

The primary target (_Wolverine _– the human brain named it for her) had fallen with his claws extended. Very sharp claws. The Creature bent, opening her mouth. _Don't waste our venom here. _The Creature took hold of his forearm and pulled. His muscles and tendons tore even with the relatively light pressure she was using. But his bones stopped her teeth.

_Tastes bad, _the Creature complained to herself. She dragged him down the hall towards the bulkhead. The weight was awkward but between the stubby fingers on her wings and her teeth she was able to get his claws to cut through the door. It was delightfully easy. One cut this way, one cut another way, then she bashed into it with her shoulder. The bulkhead was weakened enough that she was able to get through. Fresh air met her face.

She dragged Wolverine with her into the clean air. Then she turned and went back looking for another body. The dark-skinned woman who smelled vaguely of ozone. Very carefully the Creature took a hold of the woman's shirt and dragged her to the clean air. The human had another good idea. One that would work much better than killing individual guards.

The Creature sniffed around until she found what she was looking for. _That is our Tia Maria. And many others._ She dragged Wolverine to that door and repeated the trick.

More guards inside. But half of the crowd were scientists. Those were always high on the target list too. And they were soft targets, not nearly as dangerous as prickly guards and soldiers. After tearing through the armed guards the Creature took a moment to herself. She lowered her head and growled softly, nearly purring. _We will enjoy this._

Then she leapt forward, ready to feed again.


	9. La Belle Dame sans Regrets: Sting

The Creature was inclined to sleep after all that activity. She didn't put up more than a token resistance when the human mind started to rear up. The current mission parameters were pretty well met. All immediate physical threats were dealt with. At this point the human half was better equipped to deal with the situation.

She yawned and settled in for a rest, sated and spent.

Quetzal 'came to' fairly quickly. It was disorienting being in a body that was more saurian than human so she quickly returned to human form. Almost entirely. She left a thin coating of scarlet and jet feathers to protect her modesty, the change to saurian form had destroyed all the clothing she had on.

She was covered in blood. The room was covered in blood. From what she could see the hall was covered in blood. Bodies lay strewn about like broken dolls. Many of them were in pieces.

And the worst part was her stomach was full. She took the time to stick her finger down her throat and retch up what she could before moving on. Time was still very short.

In a way she was glad that it was Grace's mom hooked up to all these wires. It made sense; Grace had to get her powers from somewhere. Tia Maria just never developed them to the strength seen here.

This was good because if it had been Grace's dad here Quetzal might have just killed him when she was done with this part. The man was a horrible person who benefitted the world best by being dead. That was what Quetzal's dad said at least. Grace and Ezzy expressed similar sentiments but more colorfully expressed. Still, she was pretty certain her new friends wouldn't quite understand.

Quetzal started removing the tubes and wires that plugged into Maria. The young woman (barely more than a girl) seemed to watch Quetzal with distant eyes. Quetzal spoke soothingly in Spanish as she undid the restraining straps. "_Hey there. You're Maria right? I'm here to help you. My name is Quetzal. You don't have to be scared of me. I'm going to get you out of here."_

Maria stared with dark eyes.

_"You understand me?"_ Quetzal asked. She winced at the permanent IV shunts in the woman's arms. Her muscles were wasted away and the straps had left scars around her wrists and ankles.

Mairia nodded.

_"Speak English?"_

_"Not so well."_

_Hopefully my Spanish is better huh?"_ Quetzal knew her Spanish was good. But a little joking around was a quick way to build a rapport. _"Can you help me? If you can help me I can get you out of here."_

Maria was sitting up. Quetzal draped a lab jacket over her. There wasn't too much blood on it. Quetzal smiled, being sweet as honey and pie, trying not to betray the screaming inside. "_What do you say?"_

"_You're covered in blood."_

Quetzal looked down. Her feathers were matted with the stuff and when she wiped her face more blood came off on her fingers. Another advantage of red feathers, they his blood fairly well. _"Yeah, I guess I am. It's not mine though. So will you help me? I can't do this without you._" Quetzal put a lab jacket over herself, hiding some of the bloody feathers.

Maria nodded solemnly.

"_Were you the one canceling the Jean?" _Quetzal sat down next to her. "_In New York and while she was here?"_

Maria nodded again.

_"Do it again. Mute her completely. Don't let her get anything out."_

Maria closed her eyes tightly. After a few moments she grunted "_This is very hard._"

"_She _is _the most powerful psychic in the world and she's being augmented by the device they put her in. But you can do it I'm sure. Just for five minutes, that's all."_ Quetzal was gratified when she heard Wolverine start swearing under his breath. Maria was blocking whatever was keeping the other mutants asleep.

It took just a few seconds for the muttered curse words to become shouted. Wolverine sat up, looking at his shredded left arm. The Creature's teeth had torn most of it down to the bone. "What the hell happened?" he shouted at Quetzal.

"Not now," she growled through her teeth at him. "Get Storm to clear the air then go find Jean. You have as long as Maria can keep Jean contained. I don't think that's going to be a very long time. If you don't get Jean free before then everyone goes lights out again and I will personally put my size ten boot up your ass for wasting this chance!"

His mood could not be possibly made worse by Quetzal's attitude. "You coming?"

Quetzal felt her eyes go flat. She was so far beyond exhausted. "No. The first priority for retaking the compound will be to resecure Maria. We can't leave her here on her own."

"We'll be back in a minute."

"Hurry!"

Wolverine left Quetzal. His arm was starting to heal, but it was taking a strangely long time. He tried to piece together what happened as he sniffed the air, looking for traces of Jean. The last thing he remembered was Quetzal knocking him to the ground. There had been guards then. Now there was just a lot of corpses.

When he woke up Quetzal was half-naked and looked like she'd bathed in the blood. The room and hallway floors were slick with the stuff and red gouts had been thrown against the walls. Broken bodies and parts were strewn around and many had large bites taken out of them. And Quetzal's teeth were red.

Wolverine had seen destruction on this scale a handful of times before. Usually it involved Frank Castle or Sabretooth. What had the girl done? This certainly wasn't anything learned in the Danger Room.

"Nice job," Scott said as he joined Logan. "Happen to leave anyone down here alive?"

"This wasn't me," Wolverine growled back. "It was Quetzal. Jean should be right next door."

Storm was getting up, trying not to lean against the wall. She was covered in blood too. "What happened here? Logan?"

"This wasn't me!" he snapped. "It was the damn kid!"

Scott slid in a puddle and put his hand against the wall to balance. When he pulled his hand away it was covered in blood. He made a face and wiped it off on his prison greys. "Let's get Jean. Then let's see if we can find some security footage of what happened here." He stopped at a door. "This is it. Be careful."

Scott leveled his gaze at the door and lifted his glasses to blast through it. He tempered the blast as well as he could. He didn't want to risk hurting Jean.

There wasn't any panic fire this time. The guards inside immediately and dropped their weapons, surrendering quickly. They recognized the battle was over and only wanted to walk away with their lives at this point.

"Get Jean out of that thing!" Scott growled. "Now!"

The lab workers scrambled to obey. At least that way they had a chance of surviving the night. They quickly unhooked the pads from her temples and the restraints from her wrists and ankles. She practically flew from the table and into Scott's arms.

"Scott!" she grabbed him close. "I couldn't feel you!" she sobbed. "I - I still can't feel you! What did they do to me?"

Scott held her close and looked to Storm. "Tell Quetzal to let Maria stop." He held Jean. "It's okay. You'll be fine."

Storm left. She skidded through a puddle of blood and caught herself against a blood slick wall.

Quetzal and Maria were still in the next lab. They both looked exhausted. Quetzal looked up when Storm came in. "Did we win?" she asked.

"We did. Can you stop whatever is blocking Jean? She's stressed enough as it is now."

Quetzal smiled, revealing blood stained teeth. "Good." She turned to Maria. "_You can stop now._" She stretched and stood carefully. "We get to go home now right?"

"There's a little bit of cleanup left to do. But yes, we will go home shortly."

Quetzal took a deep breath. "Let's finish this then."

"You can wait here."

"I'll damn well finish what I started," Quetzal growled. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"Stay with Maria," Storm said with authority. Quetzal looked too weak to create another a bloodbath, but there was no sense in taking a chance. "Keep her safe."

"I can-"

"No Quetzal. We'll come back when it is safe. Stay here."

"I can do whatever I need to do," Quetzal was determined to keep going for as long as she had to.

"You've done more than enough Quetzal," Storm meant for that to sound reassuring, but her tone betrayed her true feelings. The words came out harsh.

Quetzal flinched a little. Her eyes were cold. "You'd better go then."

There was no time to mollify the statement. "We'll be back shortly."

"Maria will be coming with us when we leave," Quetzal said.

"Of course," Storm said before turning to leave.

Quetzal was angry. It was a dull anger but strong. She pushed it to the back of her mind. She would deal with it later. Deal with it all later. The blood, the Creature, the looks from her teammates; she'd deal with all of that tomorrow.

"_What's she upset about?"_ Maria asked. "_You killed everyone."_

_"That is what she's upset about."_ Quetzal sat back down. "_But it doesn't matter. You'll be coming with us. We'll find you someplace safe."_

_"Why do you care?"_

Quetzal smiled. _"That's what the X-men do. They care._" It was easier and more believable than the whole truth.

"_So now you'll want me to join you," _Maria snarled sullenly.

Quetzal brushed her fingertips over Maria's forehead. It was something Tia Maria did when Quetzal skinned a knee or got a bruised feeling. She would brush Quetzal's bangs away, mutter something comforting, and frequently give her a treat. Quetzal wished she had a popsicle to offer, her upbringing didn't provide much experience with comforting words. "_No. We will take you back to the Mansion and make sure you're healthy. Then you can go where you want. I promise."_

_"People say that. But they all want something."_

Quetzal sighed. _"All I want is a hot shower and a really tall glass of sweet tea. Unless you've got an ability to magic up one of those two I'm not really interested in what you can do."_

_"You were." _Maria accused. _"The first thing. You asked me to do was blank out another telepath."_

Quetzal looked at Maria and smiled slightly. "_You're right. Thank you for your help. We would've been in a world of hurt without it." _Her smile faded. "_You can just go if you want. I won't stop you. I keep my promises. Yes ma'am, when Quetzal dos Santos promises something she keeps it."_ Quetzal got up and started searching the corpses, pulling out wallets. She was getting good at raiding bodies. "_Here,_" Quetzal handed Maria the cash out of the wallets. "_Not sure what the exchange rate is against the dollar, but it's a start. Here, let's get you dressed."_ Quetzal looked down at herself. "_Get me dressed too."_ Quetzal was trying to keep busy. She wasn't ready to lose momentum yet. _"There's no reason you can't come with us. They're nice really. Gave me room and board and new clothes and everything."_

_"And they just want you to kill people in return."_

Quetzal froze. She looked down at her hands and then the bodies on the floor. "_No. That . . . they didn't ask me to do anything." _There was a lot of blood on her hands. She still tasted raw meat and blood in her mouth. _"It was just . . . something I had to do. You do what you have to do to survive."_ Quetzal went back to the bodies. "_Here, these look like they'll fit you. Sorry about the blood." _She handed Maria the pants and shirt she just pulled off one of the smaller corpses.

Quetzal was in no mood to talk after that. She found a pair of slacks for herself and stood quietly, allowing herself to think and reflect on the past twenty four hours.

There was nothing. Her nerves were steady. There were no more butterflies in her stomach and her knees were no longer threatening to buckle. The job was done and she felt . . . . fine. Absolutely fine. But somewhat disconnected from herself.

Could all of those nerves have been just uncertainty about success?

And what did that say about her?

She still wanted a glass of sweet tea.

The lab had a sink in the corner. Quetzal washed her hands and started cleaning her face off. She used her finger to scrub the blood off her teeth and pick out whatever was between her teeth that she didn't want to think too much about.

_Think about it,_ she told herself sternly. _Think about what's between your teeth._ She picked behind her molars. _That's someone you killed . . . . and likely ate. Someone the _Creature_ killed and likely ate. _She corrected herself.

That's what it was. Once the Creature woke up from wherever it was sleeping then she'd probably feel all the implications.

She was still rubbing at her teeth when Jean and Scott came in to tell her it was time to leave.

Quetzal sat quietly on the ride back. Maria was asleep next to her. The others could be forgiven for thinking that Quetzal was asleep as well. Her eyes were closed and her face was placid, her breathing deep, slow, and untroubled. She wasn't thinking about much, but she was listening and "watching" the heat patterns around her.

"These are the surveillance recordings of the hallway," Beast said. "It's only the feed from one camera so it's not very long. But it is something."

"Let's see what the girl got up to when we weren't looking," Wolverine growled quietly.

"I saw the results," Storm said. "That was quite enough for me."

Quetzal opened her eyes. "Yes, you made that very clear back in the lab."

"I didn't mean for that to sound as harsh as it did," Storm replied.

Quetzal stood up, treating her left leg a little gingerly. Now that the adrenaline wore off it felt like there was a torn muscle. Nothing that rest and a little ibuprofen wouldn't take care of. "So let's see the vid." She ignored the half-apology from Storm

"Maybe later," Scott said.

"Maybe now," Quetzal snapped. "I ain't so fragile I have to be shielded from what I did. Least I can do now is see what I unleashed." She wasn't going to admit that she was curious to see what the Creature looked like. She'd never seen a recording of it, just a few hastily snapped pics her dad took the handful of times she'd turned into the Creature during her childhood.

Reluctantly Scott slid the disc in and the monitor sprang to life. He wanted a chance to see it and get an idea what to expect before letting Quetzal watch it. And she seemed to be in a weird state of mind. Probably it was fatigue; she had been very busy and not gotten much sleep. It could also be a touch of trauma. Even if the Creature was uncontrollable animal, Quetzal was still a girl fresh off the farm with minimal real combat experience.

The monitor flickered to life. The video was silent and in black and white, so there was that at least. Storm had turned back to the cockpit of the Blackbird even though it was an autopilot.

After a few seconds, Scott wished he could join her. But Quetzal was under his charge and he was responsible for bringing her into the situation. The Creature was brutal. It was like watching a wolf in a hen house. It was stomach churning and he came close to losing his last meal when the Creature choked down and swallowed what was in her mouth.

He glanced at Quetzal. Her eyes were enormous and her hands were clapped over her mouth. She wasn't blinking.

Scott paused the video. The image froze with the Creature lifting her head and looking back towards the camera. Thankfully it was one of the few frames that didn't have any active violence in it.

Quetzal didn't budge. Scott reached out and squeezed her shoulder, letting her know that she had friends in the room while he looked for the right thing to say.

"Look at me," Quetzal said softly. Her hands dropped away from her face and she stroked the monitor as if she were petting the Creature. A small, amazed smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "I'm so beautiful."


	10. She's Got Issues: Offspring

"You weren't kidding when you said you were a combat model," Beast said.

Quetzal was idly spinning herself round in circles in one of his lab chairs. "No, I wasn't."

"I was thinking though, you might want to tell the others. About being a construct."

"No I might not." She gave him a look as she spun around slowly.

"They're concerned Quetzal." He grabbed the back of her chair to stop the spinning. "And not without reason."

"Why?" Quetzal folded her legs under her. "That's what we train for. Hurting bad guys, protecting ourselves, defending atyp-kind. So I'm good at it."

"They're worried you're psychotic."

"They pal around with Wolverine. They can't get that wound up about psychotics. I know in this universe he didn't kill my family," she said quickly before Beast could bring that up again. "But he's not exactly running a home for orphaned kittens with rare diseases either." She giggled at the mental image. "And at least psychotics are human. Doc, I know what happens when people find out I'm a levite. They never look at me the same way." She set herself spinning again. "Like I'm some kinda bomb that's gonna kill 'em any minute. I don't like it." She stopped herself. "I'm not psychotic. The Creature might be, but I'm not."

"But if you can't control when you turn into that thing-"

"I can."

"Back at Genosha?"

"I let her out. I can't control her once she gets out, but I can keep her under wraps." Quetzal turned in the chair to lean over the back of it. "That's a very significant difference."

"What if we'd been in the hall Quetzal?"

"Wolverine and Storm were in the hall. They're fine. He got his arm torn up pretty bad, but that's nothing for him."

Beast sighed in frustration.

Quetzal stared at him. "Do you think I'm dangerous? To the people around me?"

". . . . I have concerns, yes. The Creature got out three times in the space of a week."

"Twice," Quetzal said, her eyes were narrowing in irritation. "Only twice. The night we were captured and the last night there."

"What about downtown."

"That was all me."

"I'm not sure that really makes it better."

"What could I have done differently? They were taking the kids."

"I'm not saying you should have done anything different," Beast ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at his inability to clearly articulate the problem to Quetzal. "You're not wrong Quetzal. You aren't. But you're still scaring the others. You're an eighteen year old farm girl who reacts like a veteran Navy Seal. They don't know why and that's what scares them. If you told them you were a construct –"

"I've given enough explanation. And I've told them all I'm gonna tell them."

"If you told them you were a construct," Beast continued. "That would clear it up. A combat model with operant conditioning would explain how you seem to know all of this by instinct – you really do know it by instinct."

"I'm not gonna tell them that. I know what happens. You tell them you're a thing that ain't exactly human and the next thing you know you're practically collared and leashed!"

"This isn't Asylum, Quetzal. This isn't some little town that will judge you like that. This is the X-men."

Quetzal stood and quickly stalked to the door. She stopped and turned. The impassive mask had cracked. Her cheeks were wet with tears. "You don't know a thing. Not a g-godamned thing." She stammered over the obscenity but her ears didn't turn red this time.

"If you don't tell them Quetzal, I will."

The mask fell back into place. "Then we'll know how much your word means. But in Asylum, people keep their promises." She didn't bother closing the door when she left.

**********

_Iggy turned the bracelet over in her hands. "No. I will not wear it."_

"_It's for your own protection," Colonel Fury said. "And you will wear it."_

_The bracelet looked innocuous enough. A stainless steel cuff with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo done in bronze on the front. "I have never had a problem protecting myself." Her heat vision let her see the small circuits in the bracelet. "Why do you want me to wear that thing?"_

"_There are some concerns about your . . . . alter ego."_

"Sozdanye_. She is called _Sozdanye_." She still used the Russian word._

"_Right, the Creature. In the event that she gets loose and out of control, we can use it to shut her down. The only place it can be activated from is here on the helicarrier." _

_Iggy dropped the bracelet as if it could bite her. "I already wear the earpiece and you have the post-hypnotic command to send me to sleep! Why do you want me to wear that too!"_

"_The bracelet locks on. In case of emergency we can trigger a small electric charge that will render you unconscious."_

"_I refuse!" Iggy kicked the bracelet away. _

"_It's not a choice Iggy." Fury picked up the bracelet. "It's an order."_

"_You do not ask Bruce to wear such a thing!"_

"_I'll be blunt. Banner isn't a Soviet bio-weapon. Who knows what the Reds programmed into you. This is a new policy for constructs like you. It won't apply to just you."_

"_I am the only construct here."_

"_But you probably won't be the last."_

"_It is simply not an option Nicholas."_

"_I'm not happy about this either Ig. But this directive comes down from on high. If you want asylum you're staying with S.H.I.E.L.D. and you're wearing that bracelet."_

_Iggy stood in thought for a moment. SHIELD had cleansed her criminal record, gotten her out of her involvement with the Russian mob, and shielded her from Soviet retribution. "You have been very good to me Nicholas. Thank you for your help. I owe you a great deal." She removed the earpiece and set it on his desk. "But I will not wear such a thing. Not even for you."_

"_We can't protect you if you leave Ig."_

_She set her sidearm and badge on the desk as well and shucked off her jacket. "I know."_

"_You're not going to last very long on your own. Not with Brighton Beach, the reds, and Frank Castle after you. Maybe even us."_

"_Then I will die as a human. Not as a poorly behaved pet."_

"_Where are you going to go?"_

"_I am not sure I should tell you if S.H.I.E.L.D. might come after me." She smiled for the first time that day. "I will find Asylum I'm sure."_

"_. . . . Good luck Ig. Keep your nose clean."_

"_Good bye Nicholas."_

************

Quetzal stopped in the kitchen. The dull anger was back. She didn't get angry very often anymore. She'd had a temper as a little kid, white hot and quick to trigger. Mme. Yelena, Sensei Mike, and her dad had all worked very hard to teach Quetzal enough discipline to quell that temper. The dull anger was new and seemed impervious to the calming techniques she'd learned.

Still, she took a few deep breaths, gathering the anger into a ball and releasing it on the exhales. But what she really wanted was someone to talk to. She'd been hoping Hank would be that person, because then she wouldn't have to avoid the construct issue. But after that last thing he said, she wasn't about to trust him with anything else.

Quetzal made herself a pair of sandwiches and sat down with them. She peeled off the first piece of bread.

It wasn't that she thought the others were necessarily wrong to be concerned. She was a little concerned herself. She was pretty sure she should be feeling . . . something. The Creature was back in the hind part of Quetzal's brain. It contributed its memories of the night slowly and mostly in a monochromatic red. Still Quetzal felt . . . . pretty fine.

Maria had left that morning. She had bid a touching goodbye to Quetzal. But Maria had no desire to stick around the mansion. She'd had enough of being used by people.

Quetzal never told her about Tia Maria. She didn't see a reason to. It was best for Maria if she could just strike out on her own, not feel obliged to anyone.

Quetzal peeled the lettuce off her sandwich and set it to the side. She was poking it when Scott came into the kitchen.

"Mr. Sommers!" She brightened up. "I was wondering if you could tell the kids that rehearsals are back on starting tonight? And I was thinking, maybe some of them would like to invite their parents. Could we make arrangements for that?"

"Ah," he cleared his throat. "I hadn't realized you wanted to continue with that."

"Well yeah. I made a commitment to the kids. You know what they say, the show must go on!"

"Are you sure that's the best idea Quetzal? You might need some time to recover from the past week."

"Oh just some bruises and a small tear in my left calf. But that's all patched up. I'm ready to start jumping around again."

"I wasn't talking about your leg."

"Ah," was all Quetzal could say. "Well, there's no reason I can't teach some choreography anyway."

". . . . I'll tell them rehearsal's back on."

"Thanks."

****************

Quetzal was making oatmeal for breakfast the next morning. Rehearsal had gone well. She was insisting that the kids actually build a set instead of just using the Danger Room to make one. It was good experience. They spent the whole of the rehearsal time building in the garage. She'd thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with them turning plywood and paint into a set. She felt very much a part of something

She'd quickly cleaned the mess up when she'd realized that she was due in the Danger Room for a drill. She bolted up to her room and quickly changed clothes and was pinning up what remained of her hair as she ran back down to the Danger Room.

Scott and Storm had started the drill without her.

"I didn't realize I was that late," Quetzal said from the observation room when there was a stop in the action. "I'll be right in."

"That's okay Quetzal. We thought you might like some time off," Scott said.

"I understand," Quetzal said softly. "I guess . . . I'll go see if there's anything good on TV then. . ."

And that lovely feeling of connectedness was gone. That's when Quetzal made herself an appointment to talk to a therapist in the city.

She was feeling rather sorry for herself and the dull anger was building when Jean came down for breakfast.

"Good morning Quetzal," Jean smiled. So far she was the only one who wasn't holding Quetzal at arm's distance.

"Morning ma'am," Quetzal smiled back as best she could. "You're up early."

"Hank told me there was something you wanted to tell me."

Quetzal poured her oatmeal into a bowl and added a handful of raisins. "I'm afraid he was mistaken."

"He didn't tell me anything Quetzal. I'm psychic. I'd have to be a deaf psychic to not pick up on what's been bothering him. I already know about you being a construct."

"Y'all don't go in for privacy much around her do ya?" Quetzal added milk. "So now what?"

"Look, it puts it in an entirely different light. You being a . . . . weapon. A combat model."

Quetzal stirred her breakfast.

"And I told Scott I thought it would be best if we kept you out of the combat rotation until we know what triggers you."

"You told him I was a construct?"

"No. I figured that's for you to tell. But I want to work with you to find the triggers."

"I don't have any triggers. I never got the somatic training." When Quetzal spoke her voice was soft. "I'm going to the city today. I'll have my phone if you need me."

"No more guns Quetzal."

Quetzal added some brown sugar to the dish. "Wasn't what I was going to the city for."

"I mean it Quetzal."

"Fine," she agreed.

"What are you doing in the city?"

Quetzal mashed the contents of her bowl, still not looking up. ". . .Therapy. I'm not . . . . the past week has really shook me up. Try to regain my equilibrium."

"Quetzal, we're here for you," Jean smiled kindly. "I am qualified to . . . . " Jean trailed off, Quetzal wasn't listening.

Quetzal continued to play with her food without much appetite. "Ma'am . . . y'all are part of the problem." She took a half-hearted bite. "I knew the X-men weren't all sweetness and light. But flipping heck, you know how many people I snuffed in the past week? Because I don't. I figure I've snuffed enough people that I'm either a mass murderer or a soldier." Quetzal took another bite.

"You're a hero. You helped all those people. And you're a construct. You can't help what you've ben programmed to respond to."

Quetzal looked up with flat golden eyes. "I ain't a hero," Quetzal in a soft, mild voice as she shook her head. As if she were in disbelief at Jean's lack of understanding. "I didn't do it for all those people." She looked back to her oatmeal as if she could find answers there. "Anyway. I gotta do something to get my head straight again. And being here isn't helping."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jean was sincere. "If there's anything we can do to help . . . ."

"I'll let you know."

"Can I at least give you a ride?"

"Don't put yourself out ma'am. It's a pretty quick flight and it's a nice day."

"Stop calling me 'ma'am,' it makes me feel old."

**************

Quetzal slammed the office door on the way out. Now the white-hot anger was burning through her. She'd thrown the money for the appointment on the desk on the way out. There were a few things that were guaranteed to trigger her temper. And the idiot psychiatrist had managed to hit on most of them.

"Why don't you describe this other half?" Dr. Simmons said. "The Creature."

"Well, she's always there in the back of my head. Usually she's pretty calm and quiet. But when I'm being threatened, she tries to take over."

"To protect you."

"No. It's just an instinct. Like any animal that's been threatened."

"What does she look like?"

"Oh she's so beautiful. Like a falcon or a stalking panther. I mean, you look at her and you know she's built for killing, but she's still beautiful. She's basically a dinosaur - a raptor, one of those proto-wing types y'know? Except instead of awkward little half-wings she's got these great big wings. All crimson and black feathers. Her neck is long and her head is like a cross between a viper and that dinosaur. Very streamlined. And this great big tail to balance everything out. It sounds disjointed describing her like that, but she fits together so well. Streamlined and elegant."

"You said she's made for killing."

"Venom. Curved, serrated fangs that can take off a arm with one twist of her head. Claws where the bones of her hand turn into proper wings. An eviscerating claw on each foot. And her tail can crack a six inch oak beam."

Dr. Simmons smiled and templed his fingers. "So would you say I wouldn't like you when you're angry?"

"Huh?" Quetzal frowned. "I guess so . . . . My dad always told me I was a real pill when I was in a mood."

"Can you show me the Creature?"

Quetzal shook her head. "No. It'd be dangerous. She doesn't recognize friends, just prey."

"This isn't an uncommon thing Miss LeSaint."

It took half a second for Quetzal to remember that was the alias she'd given. "It isn't? There's others like me?"

"It's a growing phenomenon."

"It is?"

"Informally we call it Hulk Syndrome. There's another thing inside you that gets out when you get angry. So nobody better make you angry. It's all in your head. It's not unusual in young people who feel powerless in their day to day life."

"The Creature is real." Quetzal tried to smile and failed.

"I'm sure she feels that way."

"Then how do you explain what happened on Genosha."

He smiled again. "Are you sure that's how it happened? That a young woman from a small farming community saved the X-men and all mutantkind?"

"You think I'm lying!" Quetzal jumped to her feet, white hot anger searing through her. "And it wasn't just a farm town."

"Yes, you told me. Ex-spies, retired villains, defunct secret agents and a few repented IRA. And all in another world with no way of checking on it. It's a very elaborate life you've built up."

"I don't lie. Everything I've told you was true."

"Miss LeSaint . . . " he sighed.

Okay that part wasn't exactly true. But it hadn't exactly been a _lie_ when she'd told the receptionist, "just go ahead and write Hope LeSaint in that box."

Dr. Simmons continued. "If you can't be honest with me. If you don't want to change. Then I can't help you give up the Creature."

For a split second Quetzal was tempted to let the Creature out. Instead she stalked out of the office and back onto the street.

She wasn't ready to fly back to the mansion yet. She needed to cool down first or she might do something she really regretted the next time someone looked at her like she was some kind of poisonous snake.

This wasn't working. The only feelings she had regarding what she'd done were fear and concern that she essentially felt nothing and a disappointment that when it came down to it she had to let out the Creature to survive. The therapist sure as shit didn't help. And the X-men, helpful as they were trying to be just made her feel worse. God made lambs and God made wolves, but this was a sheep's world. And Wolverine was the only other wolf she knew. She sure wasn't going to go to him for advice and comfort.

Quetzal froze. There was, she supposed, one person she might be able to talk to. Someone else who might know what it was like to be a wolf among lambs and could maybe give her some advice. It was risky, it was unlikely to pay off, but it was worth a shot.

Her dad's advice had always been to run to the X-men if she got herself in a bad fix.

But her mom always ran to another source when she needed help.


	11. The Girl All the Bad Guys Want

Sabretooth felt someone was watching him. He glanced at a storefront window but didn't see anyone behind him. There was a scraping sound and he looked up. A girl with coal black hair that was scarlet at the part was standing on the railing of a fire escape, smiling down. "Hi!" she waved.

He recognized her hair; dyed black but blood red at the roots. She'd been walking down the street and passed him a few minutes ago. Her behavior had been fairly unremarkable but hair like that was hard to miss. She'd tripped and stumbled against him in a way that made him check for his wallet immediately afterwards, but she hadn't lifted it.

He ignored her and kept walking. There was more scrabbling noise above him. He looked up in time to see her making a leap across an alley to the next fire escape. There was a clanging as she missed her footing and scrambled to catch herself.

"You're hard to keep up with," she said. "Don't suppose you'd mind stopping for a minute or two."

"Who the hell are you?"

"No one you know yet. I'm Quetzalcoatl dos Santos. Quetzal, if you like."

"Go away."

"I just want to talk."

He continued walking and she scrambled from one building to the next.

"Hey, Mr. Creed!" she called down. "I wanna talk to you!"

The use of his name meant she was more than just some crazy. "What do you want?" he turned and growled at her.

She sunk back a little, somewhat chastised. "Told you. I just wanna talk."

"Why don't you come down here?"

She laughed pleasantly and pulled forward again. "Not just yet. You got a bit of a reputation y'know." She had picked her location well. The amount of time it would take for him to get up on the landing would give her a long head start. And even if she had missed her footing in the rooftop scramble a minute ago, she was more agile than he was. She'd be able to keep her lead if he did go after her. "I wanna make sure it's relatively safe."

"Sure it is, come on down." He grinned as friendly as he could.

Her laughter pealed again. "I'm crazy as a junebug in May, but I'm not stupid."

The grin dropped from his face. "You know enough to find me then you oughta know I'm not safe."

"That's why I used a qualifier." Quetzal squinted at him, critically evaluating. "I guess it won't do much good to stay up here like flipping Juliet on the balcony . . . . still . . . ." She chuckled and shook her head. "This is such a bad idea, but . . . . you want lunch? My treat."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because I know enough about you to find you in the middle of the largest city in America. You gotta be a little curious about that." Her soft Texan accent kept that from sounding as menacing as it might have otherwise.

"You're betting your life on my curiosity?"

Quetzal's smile was brilliant and friendly, not one he was used to seeing. "A lot of people don't give you enough credit for being a smart guy Mr. Creed. I know better. And anyone who's any kind of smart has a pretty healthy curiosity." The smile briefly turned into a smirk. "Besides, I can outrun you." She leapt over the railing and twisted so she landed on the next landing. Then she stopped and stared, trying to see what his reaction was.

"What could a skinny little frail like you want with me?"

"It's an incredible story. Downright unbelievable." She jumped to the next landing and evaluated again. "I'm from a different universe. About fifty years ahead of this one. I can't get home." She corrected herself, "Yet. I can't get home _yet_. Anyhow, in my universe, you were one of my mother's peers. Well, you . . . . my universe's you . . . were freelance. She was working for the Russian mob back then. Of course, this was fifteen years before I was born."

"That is unbelievable." He watched as she dropped to the second story. The next drop would put her on the sidewalk with him.

She straightened. "So it's gotta be the truth then right? Nobody would make up a story that moronically unbelievable." She took a deep breath and dropped to the sidewalk, landing in a crouch just a few feet in front of him. When they stood there for a few seconds without him making a move to threaten her she smiled. "Of course, even if I'm crazy, you could still score a free lunch out of the deal. I know a great Mexican place not too far from here. Of course, if you wanted to pick the place I'd understand. Not everyone likes Mexican." She winked.

She wanted him to feel in control and safe. She wanted him to know she wanted him to feel in control and safe. And it was beyond ridiculous that a skinny little frail was worried about making him feel safe.

Sabretooth had been unable to find anyone that might be her backup. "You just want to talk?" This whole thing was strange and extraordinary.

"My mom had this habit. Every time she needed help, she went looking for Victor Creed. She had all these war stories." Quetzal wasn't smiling anymore. Her face was earnest and serious. "I just want to talk. I'll buy lunch."

"Talk about what?"

"I don't know," she was starting to lose her cool exterior. "I was thinking maybe I could find out a bit more about my mom. Why she thought you of all people were someone to go to in a clinch. I'm just curious myself."

"So find the me in your universe. Leave me alone kid."

"I _can't_," she snapped. Her eyes shut briefly as she took a deep breath, regaining her calmness. "One, no one knows what happened to you in my universe but the general consensus is that you're dead. Two, I can't go home. I can't find anything close to my home. You – you're the closest thing I have to a touchstone. And it kills me to admit that."

"It might you know. Literally kill you. Or rather _I_ might."

She stared at him with wide golden eyes. The tension was thick before the stress snapped and she surprised him by bursting into laughter. Lyrical, pealing, infectious laughter that doubled her over and quickly left her gasping. She was still giggling as she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. "I'm still pretty sure this is a really bad idea. But it's worth it just for that laugh."

Sabretooth found himself smiling and lacking anything better to do at the moment . . . "There's an Indian place just around the corner."

"That sounds fantastic."

* * *

Quetzal was friendly and outgoing and despite himself, Victor was warming up to her. She was a breath of fresh air compared to the usual dark-minded individuals he frequently found himself surrounded by.

The first few minutes were tense, but Quetzal quickly filled the silence with stories of her childhood on a farm. A farm that was apparently filled with explosives.

She was using a piece of bread to mop up a sauce that was spicy enough to make his eyes water from across the table. "Anyway, that was when we found out that pigs can indeed suffer from PTSD."

"I guess that was the last time your dad was asked to do fireworks for the township."

"Actually it wasn't. The next time they just made sure to wet down the fields first if that July has been dry. Mrs. Mackinney's cornfield got the worst of it. She grew popcorn."

"What happens when a popcorn field catches fire?"

"What do you think happens? Would you believe that huge drifts of the stuff just sort of piled up in the street?"

"You're kidding."

"It's just like snow. We got out of school that day because we had to shovel the streets off." She giggled. "Pile it all up along the road so cars could get through."

"You are bullshitting me."

"It's fluffy, it's white. It piles up in drifts. I mean, have _you_ ever seen thirty acres of popcorn pop at once?"

"No. I guess not." He supposed that much popcorn probably would pile up in drifts.

"We salted the road too."

"For popcorn?"

"Oh yeah, you have to salt popcorn. Then the wildlife will come and gobble it all up. Just like a giant salt lick." The grin fell off her face, suddenly serious. "Of course it all ended in tragedy. Stinky Peterson's mule saw all that popcorn and decided it was snow. Poor thing just laid down and froze to death. Took two days to defrost him enough to take him to the knackers'."

Her face was so mournful and serious that it took a second for the absurdity to catch up with him. When he grinned at the nonsense she broke out in giggles.

"I apologize, but I love spinning a tall tale." She finished mopping up the sauce on her plate. "And you are just the tiniest bit gullible."

"No I'm not."

She smirked - just a little. "Anyway, growing up on a farm was pretty boring all in all."

"Punctuated by the odd explosion."

"All the best stories have explosions in them. I mean I'm pretty sure if I went on about a string of ballet recitals and church choir you'd fall dead of boredom. Flipping heck, I'd probably die of boredom and they were my ballet recitals."

"A little farm town had a ballet studio?"

"Why does everyone assume that a small farm town means the only thing we had to do for fun was watching the corn grow?" She rolled her eyes comically. "Newsflash: we had a library too. And a _school._"

Her complete lack of apprehension was charming. The smart-assedness less so. Still, he was enjoying the meal. "Alright, so let's hear one of these war stories."

_

* * *

_

_Victor slept soundly enough on the bare mattress. The room he'd rented was a shithole but easily defendable. The floor boards squeaked and the window was painted shut. It would be impossible for anyone to creep up on him._

_So when a gentle clearing of the throat woke him up his hand shot for his weapon._

_It was gone._

_There was a gentle laughter. His weapon was hanging from the fingers of a lithe female form leaning on the sill of the open window. She lifted her foot off the squeaky floorboard._

_"One of these days," he growled. "You're gonna get yourself shot."_

_Iggy grinned, her teeth brilliant in the moonlight. "Not by you." Her Russian accent was still thick even after three years in the states. Not really surprising considering she worked exclusively for the Five Families, the key players in the Russian mob. She was capable of dropping the accent altogether when she wanted to blend in, but when she was comfortable she sounded like she was just off the boat._

_"How did you get the damn window open?" The breeze was welcome. Iggy might like the heat, but he was stifling._

_"That was tricky," she admitted. "But you know I love a challenge."_

_"How come you never use a damn phone? And give that back."_

_She tossed him his gun. "I like to visit you in person. It keeps me sharp."_

_"What do you want Iggy?"_

_"I need your help."_

_"With what?" Iggy didn't ask for small favors. She only looked him up when she needed some serious help, like smuggling high profile people out of Russia, breaking into secret research facilities, or hunting government killers._

_Iggy didn't disappoint. "Mr. Petrova's oldest daughter was kidnapped and he wants her back. Hydra took the girl."_

_"What would Hydra want with a Russian mafia princess?"_

_Iggy shrugged and sat on the corner of the mattress. "I do not ask why. I just go and do. And get paid well for both the doing and the not asking." Her simple view of the world was often charming, but this was not one of those times._

_"Messing around with Hydra is not something I'd do for fun."_

_"No, you would do it because you would hate to see anything happen to your good friend Iggy," she smiled._

_"I don't have good friends," he growled._

_She shrugged. "Then you will do it because I am being paid an obscene amount of money and I will share it with you." Iggy got up and went back to the window. "Alternatively, I am sure that woman Raven will drag you into her latest nonsense." Her mouth quirked up in distaste. "Going and playing Raven's little anti-human games will make you no money and there's a good chance you will end up shot in the head yet again."_

_"I got those other slugs out of my skull by the way."_

_"I thought you decided to leave them in because pulling them out would cause an unacceptable amount of down time?" Iggy frowned deeply. Having incorrect information bothered her on a very deep level. Her whole purpose in life was to seek out information. It was a lot of fun to needle her about things she didn't know._

_"I did, but I got caught in the last Wideawake Project sweep. And once they get you in those labs they run the usual battery of tests."_

_Iggy nodded. She was probably even more familiar with the usual battery of tests than he was, having grown up in a research lab. "Bloodwork, x-rays, the occasional dissection," she shrugged._

_"MRIs. . ."_

* * *

"Are you okay?" Quetzal interrupted her story; her golden eyes were full of worry.

Victor realized he was wincing and rubbing his head. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Sorry," Quetzal stabbed a vegetable.

"What kind of name is 'Iggy' for a Russian hitter anyway?"

"My mom was a genetic construct." Quetzal lifted a hand to her mouth to hide the food while she talked. "She was largely reptilian."

"Your mom was a Frankenstein?"

Quetzal set down her fork, and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the napkin. "Please, don't ever say that in my hearing again. It is in_credibly_ offensive."

"Fine." He rolled his eyes.

For a second it looked like Quetzal was going to turn this into a big deal. She muttered quietly to herself, in clear enough diction that he could hear it if he chose to, "Wanna look ignorant it's your own flippin' business." She cleared her throat and picked up her silverware to resume eating, glancing to see if he was going to make a big deal out of what she'd said. But she picked up the loose ends of her tale seamlessly when he didn't take the bait. "To most everyone else, mom was Anna Ivanovich, and later Isabella dos Santos. But he and a few others called her Iggy." Now that the danger of an incident was passed, she smiled her brilliant smile. "A guy helps you defect from a secret military program in the Soviet Union, he gets to keep calling you a 'Damn Iguana' if he wants to."

There wasn't any arguing with that logic. "Anyway, continue."

She stabbed a few more vegetables. "I'll just skip ahead to the exciting parts."

_

* * *

"Iggy where are you?" Sabretooth asked. The earpiece remained silent. The blonde frail – Nikki – that they were trying to rescue was wailing and making disgusting snuffling sounds. For the twenty-seventh time in the past hour he seriously weighed the ramifications of just killing her. _

_And for the twenty-seventh time he decided it wouldn't be worth the bitching out from Iggy. Still, if he didn't hear from her very soon he'd be cutting his losses and cutting Nikki's throat. He was not happy about being stuck with her; he was not happy about being in East Germany; he was very not happy about being five floors down in a subterranean Hydra base; and finally he was extremely not happy that there were still people shooting at him._

_"Dammit Iggy! You've got thirty seconds to respond before-" _

_There was a surge in the amount of gunfire and he dove for further cover. After a few seconds it stopped completely. There was a brusque click of bootheels walking towards his hiding place. He leapt up and seized the trooper by the throat._

_An arched eyebrow was the extent if Iggy's reaction. She had switched clothes and was now dressed as a Hydra footsoldier. He wasn't entirely surprised. Iggy was trained – bred even – to be a spy. "Gonna get yourself shot one of these days Ig," he growled as he released her. _

_"Not by you," she smiled, brushing strands of brown hair from her face. "Follow me. We are clear to the next floor. Maybe two if we are lucky."_

_The blonde frail was still being generally loud and useless. Victor pulled Iggy close by the elbow. "I was thinking it might easier," he said quietly, not wanting to set off another wave of piercing wails. "If we found her only after it was tragically too late. Maybe just brought back her head."_

_Iggy shook her head. "That is not acceptable."_

_"I can survive getting shot Ig, you can't."_

_She pulled away and pulled the girl to her feet. "Walk and talk." Iggy pulled the girl along. "I have bad news Victor."_

_"This day can't possibly get worse."_

_"Arkady Rossovich is here as well. It is his doing that Nikki is here. He has a plan."_

_"If we get out of this alive Iggy, I'm killing you."_

_"Do not be silly," she chided. "You will not and we both know it."_

_He might. "Then maybe we should cut our losses," he indicated Nikki, who was to hysterical to notice. "It'd be a lot easier to get out of here and that's got to mess up whatever Omega Red's got in mind."_

_"I am frankly surprised that she is still alive." Iggy said loud enough for Nikki to hear. "I would have killed her already if I were him."_

_There was another bout of wailing and the girl tried to pull away from Iggy. Iggy kept her grip, bruises were already forming on the girl's arm. Iggy was there to deliver the girl in one piece back to her parents, she was not there to minimize psychological suffering._

_"Dammit Iggy." The sound went straight into his brain._

_"She must return in one piece or it will lead to civil war among the five families. That will weaken them to the point that will leave them easy picking for the Italians. It will be a blood bath. Then there will be a backgammon effect-"_

_"Domino effect."_

_"Domino effect. A mob war keeps the heroes busy protecting civilians then blah blah blah and Hydra drops a giant telepathic squid in the middle of New York that kills off half the population of the city. If he covers his tracks well enough it might even be enough to trigger the US to strike at the Kremlin."_

_". . . . . That makes no sense. What happens in the 'blah blah blah' part?"_

_Iggy rolled her eyes. "It is complicated. It does not matter. It is enough to say that Arkady has truly overstepped his bounds."_

_Iggy always had a weird relationship with Omega Red. He was one of the first attempts by the Soviets to weaponize mutants. Iggy was a twenty-seventh generation bio-construct, a prototype of the Demeter unit. Demeters were designed for infiltration and quiet wetwork, but there was still enough left from previous generations of Chimera to make her tough as hell. Omega Red was regularly used as a training dummy to test the various types of Chimera during their development. Consequently Iggy regarded Arkady Rossovich as a combination of little brother and personal chew toy. And she felt it was part of her purpose on earth to keep Arkady in his place._

_Sabretooth groaned. "There's no chance of us just hightailing it out of here is there?"_

_She frowned in thought. "What do you think?" she asked earnestly. Iggy was not a planner. Chimeras were not encouraged to problem solve. It was easy to forget that most of the time because her instincts were so good. That was how they ended up so deep in the shit, Sabretooth following Iggy, who was following nothing more than instinct._

_"We have to get out of here!" Nikki cried. "You have to get me out of here!"_

_"Shut up," Sabretooth snapped. Getting the girl home would delay whatever the plan was, maybe long enough to get back and destroy whatever the squid thing was. If only for the sake of enlightened self interest, Omega Red had to be stopped. And while he was nothing near a hero, _

_Iggy tapped him on the shoulder, her smile was soothing. "Victor. He knows you are here. And that you took the girl."_

_"So why are you smiling?" he growled._

_"He doesn't know _I_ am here."_

_That was enough to make him smile too. You couldn't ask for a better ace in the hole than Iggy. "Ok, let's keep this simple. We stash the girl someplace safe. I go deal with this . . . psychic octopus thing. You follow me and stay out of sight until we run across Arkady."_

_Her smile widened, showing the fangs that went all the way back in her mouth, a vivid reminder of how inhuman she was._

_"Can we put him down for good this time Ig?"_

_"My little brother? Of course not. Family is important." Iggy turned and walked back down the way she came. _

_"You're only twenty Iggy!" he called after her._

_"Keep the girl safe Victor!" Iggy shouted back. "Everything will still go to hell if we don't bring her home."_

* * *

"Wait," Victor interrupted. "You said she was working for the Russian mob for three years at that point."

"She was." Quetzal sipped her water. "Most constructs are designed to mature quickly. Get them into the field as fast as possible. That's one of the biggest advantages of using them. Mom went on her first proper mission when she was seventeen and that was enough to convince her that she vastly preferred not being on a leash in America to being kept on a short one in the Soviet Union."

"Not an uncommon problem. Normally they'd threaten your family to keep you in line."

"But mom was a construct," Quetzal finished the conclusion he was drawing and nodded. "Yup. She didn't really have any family as such. Not much in the way of patriotism either."

"You'd think they would have planned that a little better."

"Oh they planned it very well. She had all sorts of somatic programming to bring her to heel if she got violent against the wrong target or needed to be brought in or if they wanted to induce a suicide." Quetzal laughed and it was only a little grim. "What they didn't plan on was her hiring a guy to kill everyone who knew the post-hypnotic commands."

_

* * *

Victor tried to ignore the sound of the klaxon. There were backdraws to hyper-aware senses. The flashing lights and sirens that accompanied a self-destruct sequence were particularly grating. He'd stuffed Nikki in a supply closet two minutes before the warning started._

_Two minutes after the warning started Iggy ran by wearing a completely different uniform, her hair was red now. "The containment field for the squid is down. Do not go below level ten. Where is Nikki?"_

_"Broom closet down the hall. We can pick her up on our way out. In the meantime we can go down and try to find Arkady."_

_"Ah."_

_"What did you do now?" he growled._

_"Well, it is just that the monster is moving up the levels. We might wish to avoid it."_

_"Can you go for five minutes without making the situation worse for us?"_

_Iggy nodded solemnly. "I will try."_

_"Jesus Christ Iggy, I'm not a damn hero. I break things and kill people."_

_She shrugged. "All we are doing here is breaking things and killing people."_

_"You're right."_

_"I was not disagreeing with you."_

_"I mean we have to stop thinking like heroes."_

_Iggy frowned, confused and growing irritated by it. "I am not thinking like anything except what I am."_

_"Look, the squid thing is moving up, everyone is coming this way to escape it. Like rats leaving a ship."_

_"Rats run up?" The frowned deepened and she was starting to think he was being dense on purpose._

_"We'll just go find a good spot to wait for Arkady."_

_"There's more than one way out."_

_"Then you go close them off."_

_Iggy nodded and disappeared. He was confident that she would pop back up when he needed her. Sabretooth started down the hall to find a convenient place to lay in wait. _

_

* * *

Iggy whistled a low tune to herself as she typed in the key code. It closed and locked down access to the last of the general escape tunnels. Arkady's personal escape route had been the first one she'd destroyed access to, before she'd even gone to find Victor. It had been a great deal of fun, piling up all the loose munitions she could find and rigging them to explode. The explosion rocked the lower levels of the base and undid the last of the containment for the mutated squid._

_Now that the final escape tunnel was sealed off anyone trying to get out would have to go by Victor. Eventually that would include Arkady. Iggy had to hustle to get back to where she would be able to help Victor. She slithered back into the air vent. _

_

* * *

Arkady Rossovich was nearly blind with rage. All these years of planning and preparation literally going up in smoke. As he moved up the levels to stay ahead of the monstrosity he'd created he wondered who was behind this. The Avengers would have made an actual appearance by now. It might be the X-men, but the explosion that nearly took off his head when he attempted to use his dedicated escape route was definitely not their style. It was definitely a personal attack._

_It was painful, but not completely unsurprising when three bullets slammed into his back. Arkady cursed and grabbed at the nearest Hydra footsoldier, instantly draining their life energy to heal himself. In the meantime he saw a familiar silhouette in the shadows. "You!" he snarled, lashing out with one of the carbonadium tentacles that emerged from his wrists._

_For his size, Victor Creed was surprisingly nimble. He dodged under the tentacle, losing his next shot._

_"What the hell are you doing here?" Arkady demanded as he flipped the tentacle the other way. Victor avoided getting caught in its coils but the lash caught the gun, knocking it down the hall. _

_Victor shook the stinging out of his hand and didn't answer. _

"_What are you doing here?" Arkady demanded again. There was very little reason for Victor Creed to be here. The man sold his ability to the highest bidder. None of the agencies he usually worked for would be standing against Arkady now. _

"_I'm just here for the girl," Victor said._

"_What the hell does the girl have to do with you?"_

_Victor didn't answer, he leapt at Arkady, claws extended and eager for blood. Arkady lashed out with the coils. The coils wrapped around Victor and there was a stinging as Arkady started sapping life energy from him._

_Momentum carried Victor forward. His claws might damage the metal but they were so much more effective against soft flesh. He got a few good slashes in before the coils impeded his range of motion._

_There was a coil around his neck, beginning to cut off his air. That would Victor pulled the coils away, taking a short breath before they tightened again. He reached for Arkady's face, thinking it would be an awfully convenient time for Iggy to show up. Logan once fought Arkady toe to toe for eighteen hours, and they didn't have that kind of time._

_A shadow rose up. Looking over Arkady's shoulder, Victor could see a lithe form silhouetted against the emergency lighting. There was a low rumbling as she cleared her throat. _

_One of the coils released Victor as Arkady turned to attack the newcomer._

_It was immensely satisfying hearing Arkady scream like a little girl when he saw Iggy. She'd shed her most of her clothing and nearly all of her human characteristics. She was now a lean and dangerous saurian, about the size of a great dane._

_Even after seeing her transform on previous occasions, even knowing she was on his side, Victor felt a small knot of instinctual fear in his belly. Millions of years ago her ancestors hunted his and those were instincts that died hard._

_But that was nothing compared to Arkady's reaction. After he'd proven impossible to control he'd been locked away for decades, used as nothing more than a final test for Chimera designs. Decades of being chewed on, mauled, and savaged. _

_And Iggy was the end result of those decades. Generations of genetic tampering and refining made her immune to his "death factor." And generations of genetic memory had it stamped into her hindbrain that Arkady was her natural prey._

_And she was between Arkady and the exit. _

_Iggy roared and sprang forward. The force knocked Arkady to the ground and the coil still wrapped around Victor's throat tightened until something crunched._

_Victor gagged on his blood and tried to pull free of the coil. Iggy worrying Arkady like a rat terrier was not making that easier. After a few seconds the coil loosened and he was able to pull free. A few seconds after that and Victor was able to breathe raggedly._

_Iggy wasn't doing quite as well, Both of Arkady's coils were wrapped around her. One was around her chest and the other waqs wrapped around her neck. If the tightening coils around her neck were choking her it didn't stop her from snapping her jaws inches from Arkady's face. Her talons scratched at his armor._

_After taking another moment to recover Victor leapt in to lend a hand. He dropped his weight on Iggy's back. She 'whuffed' in protest at the sudden weight, but it dropped her the last few inches and she sunk her teeth into Arkady's shoulder._

_The three of them tussled. There was nothing elegant about it, just three killers battling for survival. Even with the addition of Iggy, Arkady wasn't exactly a pushover. _

_It was Victor who had the most presence of mind to be aware of what the automated countdown was saying. When it reached three minutes he pulled himself free. Another wrenching pull dragged Iggy mostly free of Arkady. Sensing the opportunity for escape Arkady scrabbled free and took off down the hallway, the opposite direction of the exit. _

_Iggy sprang after him, eager to give chase. Victor shouted the recall phrase and she stopped suddenly and turned back. The recall phrase only had a temporary effect but in the meantime she heeled nicely at his side._

_Victor remembered to stop and grab the girl from the supply closet. She was beyond screaming now, just sort of staring straight ahead. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Then he ran._

_

* * *

Iggy sat back and sipped her tea. "Well that is that. I transferred the money I promised to your account Victor."_

_It was a pleasant day outside. The right kind of day for lunch outside of a café. "Thanks."_

"_And I feel it necessary to point out that you did not get shot in the head. Also as I promised." Iggy did not feel it was necessary to thank him for using the recall command to keep her from charging deeper into a Hydra baqse about to self-destruct. But he didn't comment on the lack. Even if it made his life more convenient like it did in this case, he hated the idea of somatic programming._

"_Did you get the passports?" he asked._

"_I know a girl who does good work." She produced three passports from her purse. "Has she eaten anything?"_

_Nikki was still staring straight ahead. She hadn't really moved or even blinked since their escape from the base the previous day. "I'm not going to feed her. If she's hungry she can eat."_

_Iggy shook her head and held a piece of bread to the girl's lips. Mechanically Nikki chewed and swallowed it. "We still must return her safely. It would be no good if she were to waste away." Iggy buttered another piece of bread and ate it herself. "Do you suppose Arkady is dead? He ran further down into the base."_

"_I won't believe it until they find his body," Victor said. He continued to read the German newspaper as Iggy fed bits of buttered roll to Nikki. "You know Ig, we are bona fide heroes right now."_

_Iggy laughed. "That is absurd."_

"_How many lives do you think we saved yesterday?"_

_She shrugged. "We did not do it to save lives."_

"_Yeah I guess you're right."_

"_. . . Do you think we will get a medal?"_

* * *

Quetzal was finishing her meal. "That wasn't the last of it of course. It was another three years before she gave up her life of crime. And even after she went straight she never stopped pestering him."

"Your mom tell you a lot of these stories?"

Quetzal's face became mask-like as she poked at the last of her vegetables. "No. Dad did. She died when I was little. She was murdered."

"Sorry to hear that." He didn't exactly empathize, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

She shrugged. "Mom had plenty of enemies. Dad said it was tragic, but not entirely surprising. He thinks he should have kept her from going to the meeting that got her killed. Should have seen it coming." She looked up from her plate. "If it's all the same, I don't really want to talk about that."

"So what do you want to talk about then?"

Quetzal dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Well, to be completely honest, I did have more on my mind than swapping a few war stories and meeting with a – well something close to one of my mom's old friends."

Several pieces fell into place at once. "Jesus, you're gonna tell me you're my kid aren't you?" he groaned.

She blinked at him rapidly and then erupted with laughter. It was unrestrained, mirthful, and attracting the attention of everyone in the dining room. After a few seconds she reined it in and searched her napkin for a spot that was clean. "Oh goodness," she giggled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the napkins. "Ohhh, 'scuse me for just a minute here." She sniffed and returned the napkin to her lap. Her composure was returning. "Did you hurt yourself jumping to that conclusion? Because . . . . yeah, my father's name is Victor dos Santos. My mother was _friends_ with Victor Creed. Nothing more than that."

"So you absolutely aren't my kid."

"I don't lie. Not ever. And I am absolutely not your kid." She smiled. "Sorry for laughing. No offense but . . . . it's quite a conclusion to leap to. I know I'm congenial but I didn't think you'd like me enough to claim me."

"That's not . . . . I didn't . . ."

She let him off the hook. "It's okay. I understand. Truth is so infinitely stranger than anything we could make up. I guess leaping to a conclusion like that doesn't seem so crazy in the face of me being a dimension traveler."

"You are a weird kid." Victor shook his head. He was finished with his meal.

"You have no idea." Quetzal was nearly done with hers. Which was impressive since she had ordered twice as much. She set her fork down, ready to get down to business. "I was at Genosha last week. Did you hear about what happened there?"

"Yeah." He had been thinking about going down there and intervening after Toad got wrapped up in that mess. It was a damn inconvenient time for Toad to get himself put out of commission. "Heard that the X-men pretty well wiped it off the map."

"I was there too. In the confusion, I killed a lot of people. Killed some when they were bringing me in too."

"How many is 'a lot?"

"I'm not sure. More than ten. There was a lot of confusion and . . . . at one point I lost control of myself." She looked away, her brow furrowing . "I grew up on a farm. I've killed chickens and butchered hogs. Dad took me out every hunting season. Death isn't unfamiliar. But I've never killed a person. I'm pretty sure it should be different than killing a chicken though."

"You need a therapist kid, not a killer for hire."

"I need another predator. Ultimately that's why my mom got along well with Sabretooth. They were both predators."

"And you think you are too?" he laughed.

She didn't. Quetzal's face was impassive. "I don't feel anything different about killing people than I did about killing chickens. That's not normal. If I go talk to a therapist about it, they'll think I'm broken."

"You are."

Her smile was tight and didn't touch her eyes. "Well, that was awfully blunt of you."

"Because I'm so well known for being a sympathetic listener," he snorted. "There's a word for people like you and me – sociopath."

"I'm not a sociopath. I know I'm not. I _do_ feel empathy. I do feel a connection to friends and family. A strong one." She fiddled with her fork. "My dad used to say 'God made lambs, but God made wolves too. They've each got a purpose.' And he knew I was a wolf."

"Sounds like a smart guy."

She smiled a tiny, sad smile. "Yeah he was. Point is I like people. I really do. I try to be a good person. But . . . . I just don't feel . . . bad. At all."

"So what do you want from me? You think I feel bad about what I do? Everyone knows I'm a sadistic sociopathic bastard."

"There's not many wolves around. Even less that I'd trust. My mom thought you were someone she could count on and that's all I've got going for me right now. There's no way I can get good advice from a sheep. Talking to you is a complete crapshoot but . . . . it literally cannot screw me up any worse than my friends have." She rested her head in her hands, dragging her blunt claws through her hair. "It can't possibly," she said, mostly to herself.

"That's pretty sad."

"In so very many ways." Her head shot up, eyes wide and ears turning red. "I absolutely did not mean for that to sound as offensive as it did. I am so sorry. I did not mean to make you sound like some kind of last ditch effort."

"Don't apologize for the truth kid. I'd be real worried if I wasn't the last ditch effort for life advice. I've got a reputation to keep."

She smiled her small smile again.

"Do you feel bad about what you did?"

"Not a bit. It was them or me. And I chose to survive. I'd do it again."

"That's it then. You just . . . . do what you have to do to survive. Then you live with it."

"That's it?"

"That's all I've got for you. When it comes down to us or them, know which side you're on."

Quetzal sighed and slumped back in her chair.

"What were you expecting?" he growled.

His anger didn't seem to faze her. "Don't know. I was _hoping_ for something a little deeper."

"Well there isn't anything deeper. Not in real life. When it comes to real life the solutions aren't pretty. You choose to live or you choose to die. Then you choose to live with yourself – or not."

She toyed with her fork for a moment. "Well, thank you. Even if it wasn't what I was hoping for. I know you don't owe me anything." She smiled. "This wasn't such a bad idea. I really enjoyed this."

"It was fun." He checked his watch. "But I am very late for meting someone."

"Sorry to have kept you."

"Don't be. It was worth it."

Quetzal's smile was wide but it didn't touch her eyes. "Well I think I'm gonna stick around here, get some dessert before I get back to the rest of my day. Thanks for the company."

"See you around kid."

"Bye." She craned her neck around. "Mr. Creed," she called after him. When he turned her smile was smaller, but much warmer. "Just so you know, I can see why my mom liked you. You're not a nice guy, but you're honest about it."

"Where the hell have you been?" Toad came dangerously close to demanding. "Freezing my arse off here."

* * *

Sabretooth was still in a fairly good mood. "Met a girl. She was much better company than you are. So you had to wait an extra," he checked his watch. "Two hours."

"Must've been some girl. You leave her alive?"

"What the hell did you want?"

"Want you to kill someone for me. Do it myself, but she's running with the X-men and I'm still not back to a hundred percent." Toad was still displaying a collection of rainbow colored lacerations and bruises. "I'll pay you of course."

"This girl got a name?"

"Wolverine called her Quetzal, but I don't know if that's her real name or just what she calls herself. You can't miss her though. Black hair over crimson and brassy eyes."

There could not be more than one individual matching that description and answering to that name. Sabretooth kept the rapidly building anger and confusion from showing on his face. What sort of shit was Logan trying to pull with this strange little frail? ". . . . . I think my schedule is clear enough to handle this."

* * *

Quetzal was finishing up rehearsal and shuttling the kids out of the Danger Room when her cell phone rang. She answered it and tucked it between her cheek and shoulder. "Jack's Roadkill Café. You kill it, we grill it."

"Hello Quetzal."

Sabretooth's voice made her stomach flip over. She was not expecting to hear from him ever again. The surprise very nearly made her drop the phone.

She forced a grin as she recovered the phone and turned away from the kids. "Why hello there hun. Where did you get my number?"

"I got it from your therapist's office. Hope LeSaint is such a charming alias. I hope you don't mind. But you didn't leave me any way to get in touch with you."

Oh he could sound quite charming when he wanted to. "I guess that's fine," she continued to smile as her mind raced, very aware of the kids crowding around her. "I'm afraid now really isn't a good time to talk. I've got my hands full."

"How about tomorrow then? I know a wonderful coffee shop."

"That sounds fantastic."

"How about two o'clock."

"Perfect."

He gave her the address. "I'm actually looking forward to seeing you again Quetzal."

"It'll be a hoot I'm sure. See you then," she chirped back. She flipped her phone closed and turned back to the kids.

"Ooooooooh," one of the girls teased. "Ms. Quetzal has a boooooooyfriend."

Quetzal's smile was wide as she playfully swatted the kids on to their next destination with her rolled up music sheets. "Oooooooh, Cheryl has a maaaaaaaath class. Get a move on you little hyenas."

* * *

Sabretooth turned to Toad. "I'm meeting her tomorrow. She'll be dead by three. Good enough for you?"

Toad smiled. "Worth every penny. Think she suspects anything?"

"Maybe. It doesn't matter as long as she shows up."

* * *

Quetzal set her phone down on the night stand and curled under the covers. She flipped it open again and looked at the number. It wasn't entirely surprising he'd found her therapist's office. She wasn't trying that hard to stay hidden and Sabretooth did make it his living to find people who didn't want to be found. And then kill them.

She closed the phone. Maybe he did just want to meet her for coffee. They'd hit it off really well at lunch yesterday. Maybe he just wanted some company, the same as she did. It was conceivable.

Yeah right. And it was conceivable that when she woke up in the morning Wolverine would be tap dancing in the kitchen. Physically possible, but extremely unlikely.

So Quetzal had sat quietly by the window and thought for a while, turning the situation over in her head. There were a half dozen reasons she could think of that Sabretooth would want to arrange another meeting with her. Most of them would probably end with him taking a swing at her, probably even trying to snuff her. There were also a half dozen options available to her to deal with the matter.

In the end though, it was really quite simple. She was going to go. It was incredibly stupid, but she hadn't let that stop her before. And she was going to go alone. There was no reason for the X-men to know about this.

She was excited. She couldn't quell the hope that told her it was all going to end well. She was excited enough that she packed her flight kit before getting ready to bed down for the night.

Her teeth flashed in the darkness as her skull split in a wide yawn. It was late. Past time for sleep. She fluffed the pillow one last time and settled in, largely untroubled.

A grin danced across her face. "Mr. Creed," she muttered to herself as she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. "I am crazy as a junebug in May. But I am not stupid."

* * *

_Author's note: This took forever to write. The blame for the delay rests solely on Iggy's shoulders. She was not being very cooperative as a muse. Hopefully the sheer quantity of this chapter will make up for some of that delay. Next chapter is going up on November 1._


	12. Once Bitten, Twice Shy: Great White

_Author's Note: Late again I know. What can I say? Life happens. Plus, this chapter lasted about 4,000 more words than I expected it to._

* * *

Quetzal didn't look up from the magazine she was reading. Every time the door opened a blast of wind blew the scent and taste of the person in the doorway towards her. When Creed came in he'd see her with her back to the door and that would make him feel more confident and in control. And the more in control he felt the less likely he was to do something unpredictable. He was going to be unhappy enough that she showed up before him, but she didn't want to give him any more time to stew over whatever perceived slight she may have committed. She wasn't sure what had prompted his wanting to meet again and until she knew she wasn't going to take any chances.

* * *

"You're here early," Victor said as he sat down. She had her back to the door, it would have been easy to finish her off. Two things stopped him from just shooting her in the back of the head. One, he wanted answers and corpses weren't very good at answering questions. Two, he would like to be able to come back to this place all other things being equal. They did have great coffee.

She looked up from her magazine. "So are you."

"I didn't have anything better to do today. You can't have been here that long though. There's still food on the table."

Quetzal smiled and pushed the half-eaten muffin off to the side so he would have room to sit. "Funny guy."

"Just because I'm not known for a sense of humor it doesn't mean I don't have one."

Quetzal nodded and closed her magazine. "I thought it'd be nice to have some down time and catch up on my reading."

Victor would have thought that the X-men screening process would weed out anyone who's idea of 'reading' was catching up on the latest celebrity gossip. He wasn't above leafing through a rag when waiting in line, but he didn't think anyone actually purchased those things. "What are you drinking?"

Quetzal looked pleased. "Vanilla latte."

"I'll be right back."

When he returned with two coffees Quetzal thanked him before taking hers. "I can see why you like this place. This really is some amazingly good coffee." She sipped her drink and closed her eyes. "The espresso's a blend of Kenyan and Brazilian. And the baristas are good, that's got to be pretty close to a twenty-five second pull. The organic milk is definitely full-fat and I know the vanilla is real." Then her eyes opened and the smile slipped into a look that was downright murderous. "Then someone went and crapped it up with a good sized dose of rohypnol. You son of a -." Her eyes were narrow and she growled, "Did you think I wouldn't be able to taste it?"

Victor tried not to let his astonishment show. "Most people can't. That's why I use it." He leaned close, grabbing her shoulder in a tight grip and growling back at her. "Did _you_ think I wouldn't find out who your friends were?"

If the grip was hurting her it didn't show. She met his glare with one of her own. "Well it wouldn't have increased my odds of surviving. Besides, why mess up a perfectly good conversation with any unpleasantness like this?" She tried to jerk her shoulder away but he held it fast. "Were you planning on killing me too?" Her voice was low, she wasn't attracting any attention. That was good.

He chuckled a little at her use of the past tense. Killing her was still definitely on the table. "I'm going to ask you some questions first."

"Here's a novel idea," she hissed. "Try saying 'please.' Catch more flies with honey and all that."

"What the hell are the X-men doing sending a little frail like you after me?"

There was a reckless glint in her golden eyes and her mouth twisted into something between a grin and a leer and a snarl. "I told you . . . . . say 'please."

He nearly snapped her neck right there. But corpses couldn't answer questions. "Let's take this outside," he said. "However this works out I'd like to be able to come back here." He'd get her back to his hideout where he had everything he needed prepared to ask her some questions the hard way.

Quetzal nodded and got up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. The cheeky girl actually picked up his coffee to take with her. But her face was placid as she walked to the door with him. He kept hold on her shoulder. They looked almost like friends as they left.

Victor guided her into an alley. He'd soften her up a little there before getting her to the car. He gave her a rough shove and she stumbled into the wall. Before she recovered he grabbed her bag away from her and tossed it away. She gave him a dirty look and asked, "Is this really how we're gonna do this?"

"Yeah, it is." He chuckled cruelly as he loomed over her. With surprising speed he snatched her close, pulling so her back against his chest. She was on the tall side for a frail, but he still towered over her, his bulk dwarfed her skinny frame. One of his clawed hands wrapped around just under her jaw, wrenching her head back and towards him. He laid the points of the claws of his free hand against the soft skin at the hollow of her neck. With his cruelest smile he laughed again. "Scream for me," he growled.

Quetzal glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. She shook off the coffee that spilled on her hand during the rough handling. Carefully she set her coffee on a trashcan.

Victor started to press the point of the claw under her ear in. Sometimes to get them to drop the tough act you had to draw a little blood.

But Quetzal screamed before he drew blood. And when she screamed the world flipped over on itself. The sound reflected off the narrow alley walls, increasing the volume.

The sound was unbelievably loud. Victor shouted with the immediate and intense pain in his head. Before the echoes ended Quetzal grabbed one of his wrists and the shoulder of the same arm. With little effort she popped him over her hip and slammed him flat on his back on the ground.

The world spun in several opposing directions simultaneously. Victor tried to get up but couldn't determine which way 'up' was. Every motion spun the world in a new way. The vertigo was suddenly accompanied by an equally crippling nausea.

Quetzal stumbled against the wall of the alley, not nearly as affected as him, but not exactly unscathed by her own ability. She took a few seconds to regain equilibrium before starting out of the alley. "You stay there," she said, her voice only a little hoarse. "You'd best be quiet for a few moments." She disappeared and walked around the corner, back towards the street. He could hear her voice in the background. It was friendly and charming. ". . . . Oh no officer, I'm sorry. I went to go do something with my coffee cup and – well you know how big rats are in this city. Those things would scare the bejeebers outta any person I'd think. This is so embarrassing . . . . everything is fine thank you. . . . Just a really big rat. . . . Yeah, it was loud. That's my thing. . . . I prefer the term genetically atypical . . . You have a great day too." She returned. "Well the cop's gone. Lucky you."

While he was lying on the ground Victor tried to assemble the new information quickly. Clearly the girl wasn't scared and she had just dismissed her best opportunity to escape or get help.

Quetzal was back at the trashcans. She rinsed her mouth with the coffee as she retrieved her slim brown bag.

"You bitch," Victor snarled, trying to roll to his feet. The motion set the world spinning again and he fell over. "What did you do to me?"

"Only what you asked." Quetzal dropped to her knee next to him and with a pull on his upper arm, rolled him onto his stomach. "It was loud enough to shatter your eardrum. That's what caused the vertigo. It'll last a few minutes. In the meantime . . ." She pulled a half used roll of duct tape from the bag and wrenched his arms together. As she moved she was very conscious of his claws. The nausea that surged when he was turned made him very unenthusiastic about vigorously struggling. "Daddy always said, a girl's got to protect herself." Several wraps of tape above his elbows, well out of the reach of his claws, pinned his arms behind his back. She wrapped a few more loops below his elbows, careful to keep it out of claw's reach, to further restrict his movement. Her movements were efficient, planned.

"You better run," he snarled. "When I get up I'm going to kill you."

"Oh hush," Quetzal snapped. She was patting him down, removing his weapons and putting them in her bag. His cell phone and watch went into the coffee cup. "You're upset because of the vertigo." She found his car keys and pocketed them. "This is going to suck, sorry." Quetzal grabbed his arm and with a little effort pulled him to his knees where he could lean against the alley wall. "But if you get sick you don't want to be laying in it."

It was better than lying with his face on the ground but the motion set the world spinning in yet another direction. He nearly did throw up. "You're a dead girl."

She made sure he was steady before she let him go. "If you close your eyes you won't feel as sick." Quetzal reached into the trashcan again and produced a baton, the kind usually carried by riot police. She stood silently with her head slightly cocked and her eyes half shut, listening and waiting.

Like hell he was going to close his eyes. This was all kinds of screwed up. He shouldn't be the one on his knees wondering what the hell was happening. It should be the frail.

There wasn't a whiff of fear about her. Her heartbeat was elevated, but it wasn't racing. Her breathing was deep and steady. More like she'd run a sprint than escaped death. She was angry. But for the moment she was hiding the anger under consideration, trying to screw with his head.

With everything else being wrong and confusing, Sabretooth was sure about one thing; Toad was a dead man. He said the girl could fake her death, but there was no mention of a scream. What else did that little shit forget to mention?

Quetzal stood silently, still listening to the world around her. Her breathing was slowing, she was calming down after the initial rush.

"I am going to kill you," he promised her. As soon as he could stand again. And as soon as he could get his arms free. Shit, she'd thought this through. He pulled at the bindings but there was no give. The movement made the world tip again.

She said nothing and watched him with narrow, critical eyes.

"You should run you little bitch. While you still can."

Quetzal moved over to him. She was calm again. She leaned close and took a gulp of air through her nose and mouth, making a disgusting snuffling sound. "Who came with you?" she asked. "How many people did you bring?" She moved to look into his eyes.

He tried to stare her down. "I don't need help to deal with a little frail like you."

She wasn't interested in a staring contest. "Current circumstances would lead an outside observer to believe otherwise. Did you bring anyone else with you?"

"You got lucky. That only happens once."

Quetzal smirked briefly. "You did something stupid. That can happen an infinite number of times." She moved in again, taking another sniff. "You really didn't bring an backup did y-"

He lunged forward and bit at her. She recoiled faster and shoved him back. Instead of sinking his teeth in her throat he bit into her wrist. She hissed in pain and slammed the baton into the side of the head, breaking his grip. "You son of a –" she growled under her breath and clutched her wrist. "This is exactly what I was talking about. Stupid." With unbelievable speed she lashed out and grabbed him by the throat, choking off air and blood. Her fingers were slick with blood but she kept her grip.

When he tried to pull away she pushed him against the wall. The girl was strong. He tried to break the bindings with sheer strength. They stayed firm and the corner of her mouth turned up just a little. "You'll dislocate your shoulder before the tape pulls apart. It's usually the right shoulder that gives out isn't it." Her voice was inhumanly calm.

And he realized he was in deep shit. It was beyond having gotten himself in an embarrassing fix. This farm girl was closer to succeeding than dozens of professionally trained badasses. And she was right about his shoulder. She knew that much about him and if she kept her grip much longer hypoxia would make him black out. And if she kept her grip much past that . . . .

His thoughts refused to go there. Blacking out was just as unacceptable. He could not let himself become that vulnerable.

* * *

Quetzal's mind was quiet. The Creature was watching without interference, letting the human decide on the best course of action. Quetzal had run drills like this with her father. His fears included his girls being kidnapped and he taught them from a young age how to turn the tables on anyone who might try it.

She kept her grip around Sabretooth's throat, careful to pinch off the major veins that carried blood to the brain as well as the windpipe. And Quetzal carefully considered her options.

If she kept her grip much longer he would pass out. She could leave him for whatever heroes would inevitably drop by.

Or she could just keep tightening her fingers. Healing factor or no, physically blocking the oxygen-laden blood would cause brain death in a short while.

This was not the Sabretooth she'd heard stories about. This man was too careless, too quick to consider physical force as a valid option in the face of something he knew nothing about.

And besides that he was a villain and a sadist. He hurt people. His existence made the earth a little worse. Her father would say that Sabretooth was like one of those lions that got used to eating people. Her father would say he should be put down because now, Quetzal had made an enemy for life. Sabretooth would try to kill her again, and maybe next time he wouldn't be so sloppy.

It would be easy, a few minutes longer. It's something a hero would do, _should_ do.

Quetzal looked into his eyes. She wasn't a hero. Wasn't ever going to be a hero. Her fingers loosened and her hand dropped to her side. "Are you prepared to listen to me?" she kept her voice even. "And take me very seriously?"

* * *

Sabretooth gasped for breath as soon as she let go of his throat. Oxygen surged back through his system and color flooded back into his vision.

"Are you prepared to listen to me?" Quetzal asked him in a low and calm voice. "And take me very seriously?" Her eyes were emotionless, nothing behind them but nerves and brain matter, like any other animal. "If the next thing out of your mouth is a death threat then I'm going to leave you here to find your own way home."

"I'm listening," he kept his voice as calm as hers. He certainly wasn't feeling calm. He was going to kill her as soon as he got the chance. But showing any sign of weakness to an animal like that would just encourage them to attack.

Quetzal nodded. "I'm guessing you're parked very nearby since you wouldn't have wanted to carry a kicking and screaming frail very far." She pulled his keys out of her pocket. "Let's go for a drive before any bored heroes decide to investigate my scream." She clicked one of the buttons on the key fob and there was a nearby car horn.

She collapsed the baton and stuck it in the pocket of her coat before helping him to his feet. The world was still a little unsteady underneath him, but Sabretooth no longer felt the urge to be violently ill. Quetzal helped him into the passenger seat and went to the driver's seat.

Three blocks later she glanced at him. "So what did you want to ask me?" Her tone was almost genial, just a trace of hoarseness to betray her anger.

"After all that you're going to pretend we're playing nice?" he growled. "It doesn't work like that kid."

"My daddy always told me that if you're going to hold a grudge against everyone who tries to kill you then you'll never make any friends."

"Well if we're friends now," Victor said in a voice between a growl and a purr. "Then you can cut me loose."

She snorted in derision. "I'm not stupid."

The GPS in the dashboard made a soft noise to get her attention and reminded her to turn left in a quarter mile.

Quetzal glared at the GPS unit then glared at him from the corner of her eye. "You didn't." She shook her head. "You did not program the spot where you were going to question me into your GPS."

He had. It wasn't one of his usual haunts. Victor remained silent.

Quetzal laughed grimly. "Okay, I was pissed before – but the degree to which you half-assed this is . . . . it's insulting! I'm not even mad anymore." She pulled over and put the car in park. With the car stopped she reached into her bag and pulled out a knife. "Hold still."

With a quick motion she sliced up the tape holding his arms together, separating the vast majority of it. He'd be able to pull free with a little effort.

Quetzal stuffed the knife back in her bag and opened the door. "Goodbye Mr. Creed. If you ever entertain any further ideas about harming me then you'd better come loaded for bear. I ain't gonna forgive you for it more than this once."

And she was gone, slamming the car door and muttering under her breath as she stalked down the sidewalk.

One good pull and Victor pulled his arms free of the tape. His thoughts were still racing, trying to make sense of the afternoon, of the strange frail with deadly eyes. He moved over to the driver's side and took a few minutes picking the tape off the arms of his coat, planning his next action.

He quickly ruled out racing after her and ending her life in the middle of the street. It provided a modicum of satisfaction to imagine her bleeding out in a gutter. But he would be no closer to any answers. And there was no guarantee of success.

Victor finally decided the best course of action was to go home and lick his wounds. The only physical damage was some rapidly fading soreness in his shoulders, but the bruising to his pride would take longer to recover from. He'd try again later. After he had a few words with Toad. And he would take her advice, come back loaded for bear.

His mood was dark and his attention was focused inward. He was taken completely off guard by a scrambling at the back passenger door and a body flinging itself into the back seat.

It was Quetzal, she was swearing quite creatively in both Russian and Mandarin. She ducked low, below the window.

When he looked back her eyes were wide, rimmed with alarm. "Stay very cool," she said. "For both our sakes."

Victor couldn't quite grasp what had just happened. Because this couldn't be happening.

"On your six," Quetzal said. "And approaching."

The silhouette was recognizable from a block away. And it was the very last person Victor wanted to encounter that day - Wolverine.

Quetzal was slumped in the back seat. "Crap! Crap! Crap!" she swore and peaked over the edge of the window. "How the flipping heck did he find me?"

Sabretooth stared at her. He realized he was gaping like a dead fish and shut his mouth. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He knew he sounded like an idiot but his mind was refusing to wrap itself around the situation. Because now she smelled like fear. Now her heart was fluttering like a small bird and her breathing was shallow.

She was ignoring him and slipping out of her jacket. "That son of a disease-ridden goat!" she hissed. "Must've put a tracker on my coat."

"Get out of my car – _now!"_ he snapped at her.

"Heck no! He looks pissed!" Quetzal was staring intently at the seams of her coat. "If there's a transmitter there's a power source. If there's a power source there's heat," she muttered to herself. "Aha! There's the little sucker." She pulled free a small metallic object and crushed it between her claws.

His brain finally caught up with the situation. The crazy girl had made a clean getaway from his clutches then threw herself into the back seat of his car so that she wouldn't be spotted by Wolverine – ostensibly one of her teammates. Wolverine was apparently reduced to tracking her through electronic means.

She was distracted. It would be easy to reach back and slash through the soft flesh of her throat.

Three things stopped him. One was the thought of her squirming away and unleashing a scream inside the car. The other was the impossibility of remaining inconspicuous with a blood covered corpse in the back seat. Finally he'd be damned if he didn't get some answers about what the hell was going on after the day he'd just had.

"Look, do a girl a favor and get me out of here," Quetzal hissed.

"Why? Isn't he on your side?"

"He doesn't know I went to see you. I'm covered in your scent and I do not care to explain to him how that happened." Quetzal leaned forward. "Get me out of here." Her phone rang and she jumped. "Please?"

"You know this is all kinds of messed up right? You are aware of that?"

"Do you want answers or not?" she snapped. "Because option two is me getting out of the car and screaming my head off and then he comes over here and you know that whatever happens it's not going to be pretty." The phone stopped ringing.

"Might not be pretty, but I can survive it. Probably you can't." Frankly he wasn't in any kind of mood for a confrontation, much less dealing with Wolverine and whatever kind of wild card Quetzal would end up being. But she didn't need to know that.

The phone started ringing again. Quetzal closed her eyes. "I'm begging you. Just get me out of here. If he finds me with your scent on me he's gonna try to kill me. I need . . . . I need to think this through. I did not plan for this particular contingency." Her eyes opened. "If you get me out of here I will answer whatever questions you want to ask me, as thoroughly as you want."

"If he doesn't know I'm here then why is he looking for you?"

"He thinks I'm up to no good."

Before Wolverine thought to take a closer look at the car with the tinted windows, Victor started the car and pulled away into the flow of traffic. He was regaining control of the situation and that was good.

Quetzal sighed. "Thank you." Her phone rang again.

"Put it on speaker," Victor growled.

"Then you stay quiet," she snapped back. But she did answer her phone so he could hear both sides of the conversation.

"Dammit Quetzal, where the hell are you?" Wolverine demanded.

"So nice to hear from you too," Quetzal's drawl was full of syrupy sweetness. "Disappointed I found your tracking device?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm sure my drama students told you I was on a date today. I see no need to seek your permission to spend time with a guy. Why were you following me?" The syrup in her voice changed into acid.

"Just trying to keep tabs on you," he said. "Just worried about you. Why don't I meet you and this guy for lunch? He have a name?"

"He most certainly does but it's none of your business!" She was playing the indignant teen role to the hilt. "And I'm sure you're aware there are certain things a young lady might get up to where she has no need nor desire for a chaperone."

"I want you to come home Quetzal. There needs to be a serious conversation about –"

"About nothing," she snapped. "I am fine. And I am being very rude to my friend. I will come home when I'm good and ready and not a moment before." She snapped the phone shut and pulled the battery from the back. She opened the window and threw the pieces into traffic. "There."

"So is that a thing for you – wrecking phones when you get mad?" Victor asked.

She snorted. "Cell phones and watches have batteries that can power transponders. I can't see a difference in the heat if they've been bugged. Safer to assume they are."

So she had heat vision, Victor made a note of that. One more thing Toad hadn't told him. "You said you'd answer my questions. Why should I believe you'll tell me the truth?"

"I never lie." Quetzal said. "Never."

"Then what about what you just told Wolverine?"

Quetzal snorted. "Where did I lie?" She leaned on the passenger seat. "I imply plenty, but I don't _lie_."

"Because you're a good little girl," he sneered.

She laughed. "Well that's part of it, ninth commandment and all that. But the other thing is guys like you and Logan can smell a lie at twenty paces – literally. Best policy is to tell just enough of the truth to misdirect. But I'll answer any question you ask as thoroughly as you want me to. Said I would and I keep my promises."

"Of course I have to take your word for that too," his voice was dry.

Quetzal leaned forward so her head was next to his. He could hear the blood pumping through her veins. Her breath was even and he could see her eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. After a few seconds – long enough for him to get a baseline for her – she spoke again. "I never lie."

She was telling the truth or else she was the best liar he'd ever met in his long life. "Sit down and buckle up," he growled. He didn't want to get pulled over for having an unrestrained passenger.

Quetzal complied. "Thank you," she said in a soft, sincere voice. "It would have been bad."

"How bad?" She and Wolverine were supposed to be on the same side after all.

"He's outright accused me of being a traitor. I'm not sure if he'd try to kill me, but I know I can't explain why I'm covered in your scent. He won't believe the truth, not when it comes to you, and probably not when it comes to me."

"And what is the truth?"

"I made a very stupid decision based on sentimentality." She groaned and slumped in her seat. "Putting it off isn't going to help but it'll give me time to figure out an angle."

"But you don't lie."

"Nope, I just tell a lot of half-truths."

"He _scares_ you doesn't he?"

Quetzal was silent for a while. "Yes."

"And I don't?"

She was silent for longer. "No," she finally said. "You don't."

"Why not? I'm a scary guy."

"It's . . . . complicated. Take us somewhere where we can talk eye to eye. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

* * *

Victor took Quetzal to a park. The cold weather meant it was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. It wasn't a half bad spot for hiding bodies either. When he parked Quetzal got out and took a deep breath of the cold air. But she didn't try to run, she just leaned against the car and waited for him.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" Quetzal asked, examining the wound on her wrist.

"Generally I'm taking people apart, not patching them up."

"Yeah, but I imagine you occasionally want to stop them from bleeding out ahead of schedule."

In other circumstances he might feel a growing fondness for her ruthlessness – her ability to go from panic to critical dispassionate thinking. And she was right. He had a first aid kit under the passenger seat.

"Thank you," Quetzal took the kit from him and moved to the back of the car where she could rest it on the trunk. "It feels like it's mostly cosmetic damage." She wiggled her fingers. "No tendon damage. That's good."

"So now what?"

"Well first, can you give me a hand with this?" Quetzal held out her wrist and the first aid kit.

"Why should I?"

"Because I can't manage it with one hand. Look, you got the easy job – I still have to figure out how I'm going to explain this when I get home." She scowled at the wound. Quetzal leaned against the trunk while he bandaged her wrist. "I'm a genetic construct myself," she said. She volunteered the information with a hiss as he dabbed disinfectant on the wound.

He looked up at her. "You're a Frank-" Her murderous look stopped him before he finished the word. "Sorry, forgot that we're playing nice now."

"Anyway, I'm a genetic construct. A Chimera."

"Like your mother."

She shrugged. "It's a little more complicated than I've led you to believe. The woman I call my mother was the one who rescued me, not a direct contributor to my genetic code. I was lab bred but raised feral. My 'mother' was a Demeter unit. But I'm a different model. I'm a Pegasus."

"That's a silly name for a combat model."

Quetzal smiled. "You twigged that? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't that hard to guess." He smoothed the gauze over her wrist. "And if the Cerberus was a dog-like model. And the Demeter was covert, then you'd be, what, flight capable?"

"I knew you were a smart guy." Her smile widened.

"I'm gonna kill Toad."

"It gets worse." She flexed her fingers experimentally. "I was designed by a Russo-Chinese effort to combat a particular Western force of mutant commandos. The final gambit in the genetic arms race before the end of the Cold War."

He laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Team X?" He wasn't certain when he guessed it but it felt right.

Quetzal's smile was a little frozen. "I knew you were a smart guy."

He laughed it off. "Well you wouldn't be the first mutant I've run into that was supposed to be able to kill me."

"How many of them got you on your knees?"

"We're playing nice remember?" he growled.

"Just pointing out. I'm a league above. Thirty years of genetic technology this world hasn't seen yet."

"So why didn't you kill me then?"

"I'm not a flipping robot. I'm not preprogrammed like that. Just because I can do it doesn't mean I have to." Quetzal scowled. "This is why levites don't reveal themselves that frequently, not even to other atyps."

"That's not what I meant," he snapped back. "You're a hero, I'm a villain. You're not supposed to let me go."

"I apologize. I assumed," and she did sound apologetic. "Most people don't react too well to constructs." She brushed a piece of hair out of her face and smiled. "But I'm not a hero."

"Running with the X-men? You could've fooled me."

"I just sort of fell in with them. When I was growing up my dad used to tell us 'If you get in trouble, find the X-men. They'll help.' I was in trouble. I thought they could help." She looked down at her claws and frowned. "I think he was wrong though. They didn't help. They just brought out the side in me that . . . that I've tried to control. I thought they were a school."

Victor finished the bandage. "A school," he snorted. "They drag little kids like you into dangerous situations and then have the nerve to act surprised when something bad happens."

Quetzal opened her mouth to protest being characterized as a little kid but thought better of it. "I thought at first, maybe I could be a drama teacher. School plays and stuff you know?" She flexed her fingers. "You're really good at this."

He shrugged. "Just something I've picked up. So what's the story between you and Wolverine?"

"He hates me. And I don't trust him. Not one little bit." She sighed. "Remember I told you my mother was murdered? Six stab wounds to the torso. Wolverine killed her. In my world - well he was one of the people that we were hiding from."

"No shit." As a rule Wolverine didn't kill frails.

"He nearly wiped out Chimeras as a species. We were in-egg, but still," she frowned deeply. "I'm the only Pegasus model in existence. My sisters and I are the only Chimeras – they're Demeter units like mom was – they are her direct offspring. The rest are dead, most of them killed by him. I think part of it is he's reacting to me being so afraid of him."

"And the other part?"

"He's afraid of me. The Wolverine in this world doesn't know I'm a construct, but he knows I'm good at killing things. He's afraid of what I'll do to the others."

Victor chuckled. "If there's one thing that runt can't stand it's being held up to a mirror."

Quetzal blinked, confused.

"Look, you don't spend decades in a blood feud with someone without learning a little bit about the way their mind works. Logan's always been afraid of the part of himself that's good at killing, of what he might do to others." Victor shrugged. "So when he sees what he hates in himself being manifested by you – and Christ, you're so damn calm and accepting about it – you do scare him I bet, but not just because he's worried about the others. You accept everything he rejects."

"Don't blaspheme," Quetzal said distantly, turning this new thought over in her head.

She was easygoing about her inherent psychopathic side but she balked at blasphemy? "You're a weird kid."

She grinned. "You have no idea. Anything else you want to ask while we're playing nice?"

"How come you assumed I'd have backup?"

"It's what my dad would have done," Quetzal said. She hurried with an explanation. "He was special forces y'see. And growing up he taught us tactics and stuff like that. One of the things he drummed into our heads was to never go alone against an opponent you don't know much about."

"Then why did you come alone?"

Her smile was friendly but sly. "I know much more about you than you do about me. I'm uniquely bred for dealing with you after all." She shrugged. "Wolverine as well of course." After a moment Quetzal shook her head. "It was stupid of me to initiate contact with you in the first place."

"Probably it was lucky. Toad still would have wanted me to kill you and I would've gone with Plan A instead of trying to get some answers out of you."

"What was Plan A?"

He moved her to the side and opened the trunk. There was a case inside that he opened for her to show her the sniper rifle. At this point he knew her reaction wouldn't be normal (she wouldn't draw away like it was some kind of poisonous snake) but he was still a little surprised by what she did do.

Quetzal took the rifle out of the case and checked the chamber and the safety. "Nice. Shot to the head definitely would have done the job." She set it to the side and glanced at the ammo. "Steel jacketed rounds? Yeah, definitely would've worked. Would have even gone through my armor plating if you were aiming for a lung shot. Very nice."

"I wasn't expecting you to come alone either."

"Well I'm not about to tell them who I've been seeing in my spare time." Quetzal set the rifle back. "Use the parking garage across from the shop as a perch? Wait for me and whoever I'm with to come out the front door and take your shot?"

"Pretty much. Wait, you have armor plating?"

"It's internal. Just an extra layer of bone. Can stop a knife or slow down most small caliber rounds to non-lethal speeds. That's the idea at least; I never tested it." Quetzal put the rifle away and closed the case. "Well, things seem to have worked out well for us then. I'm not dead, you're not dead. Just some nonfatal bruising to the pride on both our parts. A very lucky thing considering what could have been. What else do you want to know?"

"How are you supposed to be able to kill me?"

Quetzal ran her grey tongue over her teeth. "Most early attempts tried to overwhelm or neutralize your healing factor. I have a unique venom – a hemotoxin – that is actually made more effective by your healing factor. It causes red blood cells to clot together, they no longer carry oxygen. Your body would react by creating more red blood cells that the toxin would coagulate. In a few minutes, if you were lucky, you'd stroke out. If you weren't – it would be a very painful way to go. According to the paperwork they found for me, it would be over in about twenty minutes."

"You know how many times I could kill you in twenty minutes?"

Quetzal shrugged. "Chimeras are disposable. It wouldn't matter to my handlers if one died while trying to take out a target. There'd be another dozen units like me all lined up and ready to go. But it's all academic now, I'm the only Pegasus model left."

Talking to her was dizzying. He assumed she was being as open as she was capable of being. But during the course of the conversation she whipsawed between a cold-hearted mercenary, a normal teen, and something else entirely different – something nearly mechanical – when she talked about her features as a Chimera.

"What do your friends have to say about you being a Chimera?"

"The X-men you mean?" she shook her head. "For the most part they don't know. I told Beast and Jean picked it up from him, but none of the others know. I'm not eager to tell them. Levites don't get a very warm welcome, especially not from other atyps." She smiled a little. "Back home I think everyone knew. It was a very tight knit community. They were very protective of my family."

"A family of creatures like you needs protecting from a bunch of farmers?"

"The best kind of protection is never being found in the first place." Quetzal pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up but showed no other signs of being cold despite the chilling wind. "Anything else you want to know?"

Victor thought about it. She'd had every reason and chance to cause him harm earlier. Then she had followed that up with putting herself at his mercy after he'd tried to hurt her. She was weird and unpredictable but seemed sincere in her desire not to hurt him. "You've got a lot more secrets don't you?"

"Yes."

"Keep them."

She blinked in surprise. "Beg pardon?"

"You heard me."

"I just wasn't expecting that." She gave him a sideways look. "If Wolverine were to find out about this it would cause a lot of trouble."

Victor laughed. "There's a creature designed to kill him sleeping three bedrooms down from him and he doesn't know it. It's too funny. Absolutely hysterical. And if you go batshit and kill him, so much the better for me."

Quetzal was trying for a black look but the corner of her mouth curled up into a half grin. "You have a really twisted sense of humor."

"No shit."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Now, what do we do about the mutual thorn in our side?"

"I told you Wolverine wasn't going to find out from me."

"I meant _Toad_," Her smile showed one of her darling fangs. "We both have a bone to pick with him."

The girl wouldn't be with the X-men long, Victor was sure of that. She was right; whatever else she was, she wasn't a hero. "Oh yes, what shall we do about him?"

* * *

Quetzal looked at her reflection in a storefront window and prodded her cheekbone. She was going to have a pretty good shiner in a few hours. "Well it adds a degree of believability. They ask where I got the bite on my wrist from and I can tell them I got in another fight with a drug dealer. Hopefully they won't look too closely at the tooth marks."

Victor had enjoyed watching her take down the dealer. Her violence was efficient. Her injured arm hampered her and the punk managed to connect a lucky swing. But he wouldn't be able to walk again. She'd taken the cash and used it to bankroll a shopping spree to replace her clothes. She'd taken the man's watch too and given it to Victor to make up for the one she'd destroyed.

The girl definitely wasn't X-men material.

"Thanks again for taking me back into the city," Quetzal said. "You don't have to accompany me on my errands though." She gathered up her bags and sniffed at the air. "Oooh! Hotdogs!" She bolted across the street to a hotdog stand and spent the last of the cash. "Want one?" she asked.

"I can think of few things more unappealing." He shrugged his jacket higher against the wind. "So what are we going to do about Toad?"

"I can't kill him in cold blood," she said. "I just can't."

"He's a mammal, he's warm blooded. His blood won't be cold. Not until it's been out of his body for several minutes at least."

She giggled. "It's his nature to be a little weasel." She said. "Lambs, wolves, and weasels; the good Lord made them all for a reason. Can't expect him to deny his nature anymore than you could ask us to eat grass."

"Still . . ."

"And it's that nature that makes him so useful to people like us." She finished her hotdog in one last large bite. "Toad is a tool in more ways than one. This looks like a good spot." She went inside a building and came out two minutes later in her new clothes. "You stay downwind of me. And keep your eye out for a parking garage."

"Why?"

"They're good places to take off from."

This was the real reason he was walking with her as she did her shopping. He wanted to see her transform and fly. "Well your temper may have cooled but, I'm still going to have a word with him. Many words. I expect on his end it will go a lot like 'please no Victor, I didn't really try to get you killed. I'll keep my mouth shut.' And then there may be some bleeding. That looks like a garage up there."

"Well obviously I can't stop you from doing whatever you feel you need to do. You'll put a few good words for me?"

"Yeah, not a problem. He won't be talking to Wolverine. He might not be talking to anyone when I get done with him – I haven't decided on that yet. So why's he have his heart set on killing you?"

"It's not unjustified. I crossed him pretty bad at Genosha." She told the story with a matter-of-fact modesty, and it was much more believable than Toad's version. By the time she finished they were on the roof.

"I don't know why you're conflicted," Victor said as she sat on the ledge. Jesus, it was colder up here than it was on the ground. "It sounds like you're really good at killing people."

She picked at the knots on her skate shoes. "I don't want to kill people. I never wanted to be a soldier."

"Then what the hell are you doing with the X-men?"

She tied the laces of her shoes together. "I thought they were a school."

Victor laughed. "Do you know how old that Drake boy was when he started heroing with them? Sixteen. Jubilee might've been younger. It's a training academy for raising idealistic little soldiers. Practically a cult."

She took off her new jacket and tied it around her waist. "My dad felt the same way. Didn't want us girls getting mixed up in heroing. But he knew they'd help if we got in a fix. I was in a fix." Her arms were covered in downy crimson fluff, that's why she hadn't been cold. Even in just her tank top she wasn't shivering. "I don't like what I am when I am around them."

"So what would you be doing then if you weren't heroing."

"Dancing. On the stage. Mme. Yelena said I had a gift for movement."

"Bullshit," Victor said good humouredly. "Stage dancers do not eat the way you do."

"I'm a flyer. I need the calories." She did a _pas de deux_ in her stocking feet, slipping briefly on an ice patch. "See? I dance."

"We're in the middle of New York City – why the hell aren't you auditioning or something? If you don't like hanging out with them then stop."

"I can't abandon friends who need me." She sat back down and pulled her socks off, stuffing them in the toes of the shoes.

Victor snorted. "You have an awfully high opinion of yourself." He watched as her feet stretched out into long saurian forms. Her toes turned into grasping claws with wicked talons.

She stood on those toes and was only slightly shorter than him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"They don't need you. There's nothing tying you there."

Quetzal slung the shoes around her neck and started unraveling the bandage on her wrist. The bleeding had stopped and there didn't seem to be any structural damage. She ought to be able to fly on it. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," he shrugged. "Not really. But it wouldn't be a disadvantage to me if you left them."

More feathers, larger ones, emerged from her skin as her arms grew longer. They were turning into large wings with bold coloring. "It's not that simple." She stepped onto the ledge.

He shrugged. "Whatever you say. Stay out of my way kid."

She snorted back at him and grinned, her fangs were longer now. "You stay out of mine pops." Quetzal leaned backwards until she fell. An instant later she was soaring back up into the sky.

Victor watched the red wings diminish against the clouds until the speck disappeared. A weird kid, but not entirely unlikeable. He hoped she left the X-men. It would be a shame to have to kill her.

He started back down to the ground. He needed to get a new phone. Then he needed to find Toad.

* * *

_Author's note part two: We're closing in on the end of Verse 1 here. Y'all still with me? _


	13. Get it Right: The Offspring

_Author's note: It's been a while since my last update. I feel the urge to apologize for the heavy handed exposition in Chapter 11, but certain things about Quetzal needed to be revealed and this Verse is already bordering on too long._

* * *

"Where were you?" Wolverine growled at Queztal.

She was trying to wrap a bandage around her left wrist. "Out."

"With who?"

She held the bandage in place and wrapped around it with tape. "That's a very logical question for someone who doesn't trust someone else to ask."

"Which is why I'm asking it."

Quetzal finished the taping. It was a sloppy job but it would keep the wound from being infected. "Then you wouldn't believe any answer I gave you so why should I bother giving you one?" She tried to keep her voice light but there was venom underneath her tone. "What did I ever do to make you think I can't be trusted? I'll tell you flat, I'm loyal and reliable. I'd never do a thing to hurt my friends."

Wolverine moved between her and the door. "You really think your word means a damn thing? I think you've been lying to us since you got here."

She reacted as if he'd slapped her. She didn't like being called out like that. He continued to push, to keep her off-balance. "What happened to your wrist?" He made a move to grab it and she pulled her hand away.

"I was in a fight. I was bit."

"You get in a lot of fights."

The uneasiness left her body language. The expressionless mask fell across her face. "Especially when I pick them." Quetzal shrugged. "I don't like drug dealers near places where kids hang out. If I goad him into taking the first swing then what happens after that is self-defense, not assault." She folded her arms and leaned against the wall. Her half-grin exposed one of her small fangs. "My daddy always said 'Baby, it's important to use your words to get what you want."

Wolverine picked up on the subtext of _that_ immediately. She was going to goad him into taking the first swing. She _wanted_ him to take that first swing because it made her position defensible.

Her eyes glittered in eagerness as she watched him plan his next move. And despite her relaxed posture her heart rate jumped and her pupils dilated. She was spoiling for a fight.

"This isn't over," he growled and turned to stalk away.

But he overheard her muttering a parting shot. "I'm sure it isn't."

* * *

Quetzal's stomach unclenched as Wolverine walked away. "I'm sure it isn't," she muttered to herself, a reminder that she had to be cautious. Even she had to admit, her behavior over the past day and a half was pretty sketchy.

She'd warned him now, if he had the sense to pick up on it. She wasn't going to start any fight, but by heck she'd finish it. And such a good job of keeping her cool too, even after he tried to bait her by calling her a liar. She was wise to that trick, and now he knew that. A confident posture helped when her knees threatened to start quivering.

Granted, she hadn't told the truth in its totality, but that wasn't the same as being a _liar_.

Quetzal did her best to shake off the confrontation. It had threatened to ruin her appetite, but after the distance she'd flown she was ravenous.

Beast was not surprised to find Quetzal in the kitchen. "You need to tell them," he said without preamble.

Her mouth was stuffed with a sandwich. "Uh?"

"You need to tell the others about being a construct, about the operant conditioning, about everything."

She shook her head. "This wouldn't be an issue if I were a normal atyp. You'd just chalk it up as one of my quirks."

"That doesn't matter, because you _aren't_ a normal atyp."

Quetzal peeled the bread off her sandwich and started tearing it apart in her claws.

"Logan's been telling everyone you need to go. If you don't start opening up you're going to be out on your own."

Quetzal opened her mouth like she had a response but snapped it shut.

"Why did you ditch him in the city? What were you trying to hide?"

He expected her to hide behind the emotionless porcelain mask again. But her eyes narrowed in obvious irritation. "I was pissed. Still am. I shouldn't have to account for every moment of my life. I don't need to justify myself to him. Or to you."

"At this point Quetzal, you really do."

"I don't want to be known as a combat model!" Quetzal all but yelled. Her claws dragged against the formica of the counter, scratching it. After a few ragged breaths she spoke in a much lower volume. "It's not who I am."

Beast rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "Of course it isn't." He did feel an enormous amount of sympathy for her. It was hard enough being a mutant teen on the verge of adulthood. To be separated from what was evidently a very close – but paranoid – family on top of that, it was no wonder that she was floundering. God knew what sort of issues that being a construct might add to that. "You said it yourself Quetzal, if you're in trouble the X-men can help. But you have to let us. You're actively making it very difficult. You have to trust us."

"They won't let me practice with the kids anymore. They won't let me do anything. I know what happens. What you were designed for becomes your whole identity as far as others are concerned." Her eyes narrowed. "Then come the tests."

Beast remembered the reaction she'd had the first time he'd suggested that her home town might not be the best representation of tolerance. "The X-men are different Quetzal. It won't be like that." He smiled at her. "Don't think the worst of us. Give us a chance."

Quetzal picked at the remains of her sandwich pensively, hiding behind the mask again.

* * *

Quetzal picked at her food as she turned the problem over in her head. The Creature was stirring in the back of her head. It sensed rising threat and had been "pacing" uneasily, not trying to escape, but ready to take control if needed.

The Creature wasn't the problem. She could keep the Creature contained. The Creature was predictable, violent and dangerous, but predictable.

She didn't know how the X-men would react though. That was unpredictable. Back home in Asylum people knew, everyone knew. But Asylum was different. Asylum's purpose was to hide the dangerous things. And they'd become accustomed to the first construct who took up residence there, Iggy. Iggy had convinced them that she was nearly as normal as the rest of the residents. And if she had more than the usual number of quirks, she had an earnest and good heart.

People in Asylum didn't care about what she and her sister were or weren't designed for. Half the citizenry there had defied what they seemed to be fated for, the dos Santos girls had unusual genetics, but their secrets made them average. You didn't ask certain questions in Asylum.

Quetzal took a deep breath, prepared to talk around the matter, to once again emphasize that she was not going to tell them that she was a construct and that she was regretting having ever told Beast.

Before she exhaled childhood memories flooded into her head.

* * *

_Sherriff Sean sat across from Quetzal, looking at the machine. "Remember, only yes or no answers."_

_ Quetzal nodded._

_ "Is your name Quetzal?"_

_ "Yes." The electrodes were itchy. She tried to ignore them._

_ "Are you a construct?"_

_ "Yes." _

_ The needles moved, calling her a liar. Sean looked up and smiled at her. "That's good kiddo."_

_ She didn't acknowledge him, concentrating on her heart rate and other biorhythms._

_ "Are you Abraham Lincoln?" he asked._

_ "No." _

_ The needles remained steady. As far as the lie detector was concerned she was the sixteenth president._

_Sean turned the machine off. Quetzal had mastered fooling the lie detector faster than any other child he'd taught, except for her sisters. "Your dad still telling you to never lie?"_

_ "He is."_

_ Sean shook his head. "Well, I'm not go against what your da tells you to do but I still think it's not the smartest idea."_

_ Quetzal shrugged. "Dad says I'm not good at lying. Probably never will be."_

_ "Your sisters wouldn't melt butter in their mouths."_

_ "They're a different design. Infiltrators would need that kind of imagination. I'm an assault design. My brain doesn't work that way." She was only twelve. That was the age where Sean started working with the kids, teaching them to lie to authority figures. _

_ "Well work with what you got I guess." He smoothed his thinning hair back into place. "I'm going to teach you a new trick today."_

_ "Can I take the electrodes off? They itch."_

_ "Sure." _

_ "This is a simple trick. Sometimes to keep a big secret, tell a little secret. Like, say you blew up a building and that you also smuggled a trunkful of guns across the border."_

_ "Did I kill anyone in the explosion?" she got hung up on details sometimes._

_ "Took out all the primary targets and acceptable levels of collateral damage."_

_ She nodded._

_ "Now when you get pinched, let's say you get a real hard case of a cop. And he says, 'You look guilty. I can smell guilt all over you. You blew up the building; you're going to confess before you leave.' And assuming he means it, what are you going to do?"_

_ She shrugged. "He wouldn't be able to tell. You say I've got good control of my microexpressions."_

_ Sean wondered if all constructs were so literal or if it were just the Chimera stock. "For the sake of the exercise Quetzal, pretend he can tell you're guilty about something."_

_ "If the collateral damage was an acceptable level then I wouldn't feel guilty."_

_ "And you probably wouldn't get caught either," Sean said. "Just play along okay?"_

_ Quetzal frowned but nodded._

_ "By making an appropriately wrought out confession of the weapons smuggling, it will help alleviate some suspicion about the larger charge. Think of it as an alibi for emotional behavior." He looked at the clock. "I guess that's enough for today. You better head off to Yelena's. And tell your da that I need him to come by and check on Nell. She's still favoring her front right leg."_

_ "I will." Quetzal grabbed her jacket as she darted out the door.

* * *

_

Quetzal exhaled. For a second she had sunk into her own internal world, thinking about something. With a determined look on her face she got up out of her chair and stalked out of the room.

"Quetzal?" Beast called after her. "What are you doing?"

She was nearly through the door and didn't stop. "I'm going to tell them," she said without turning back. "That's what you wanted isn't it?"

Beast had to scramble in a rather undignified fashion to catch up with her. She was walking at a stiff doubletime clip.

"You're making the right choice," he assured her.

She grunted.

Quetzal strode down the hall. She was mad, mostly at herself. She was going to have to tell one of her secrets to protect the others. But it didn't have to happen. Nobody had inquired about the provenance of her DNA, she had flipping volunteered the information. It was naivety she realized now. Too much experience with people who meant it when they said they could keep a secret.

Beast hadn't meant to spill the secret to Jean. Technically he hadn't said anything, just thought about it loudly.

So Quetzal had no one to blame but herself. She had broken the seal first.

_A mistake isn't all bad Baby,_ her dad would say. _As long as you learn from it._

That didn't make it easy to swallow. And it didn't matter if she learned from it because this wasn't a mistake you could take back. The X-men were a heroing group, they shared information with other heroes as needed. It would likely end up common knowledge before long. Only a matter of time before a pseudo-governmental agency or private force would want some of her for testing, to figure out how to duplicate the technology.

"Where are they?" Quetzal growled to cover the fact that her knees were about ready to buckle.

"Why don't you go wait in the sunroom," he suggested. "I'll get the others."

"Hurry. I want to get this over with."

He smiled at her. "It will be okay Quetzal."

Quetzal waited in the sunroom. She seriously considered just walking out the front door as she passed it. There was a large world out there. And she thought about what Sabretooth had suggested, that she leave and go audition.

_Not exactly an altruistic suggestion,_ she thought.

Quetzal tried to watch the clouds go by through the sunroom window, but her mind kept drifting. She entertained the fantasy of flying away. Of being on stage, singing and dancing in front of thousands. The idea was appealing.

"Come on along and listen to," she sang softly. "The lullaby of Broadway." She giggled to herself and stopped abruptly, there was a sharp pain in her chest. It faded quickly and she rubbed her sternum as the echo of the pain faded. No time for daydreaming. Quetzal had to anticipate what they would ask her and how she would answer. There was still so much to hide.

She could change her mind. She could tell them she'd met with Sabretooth. But the first question would be "why." Quetzal didn't have an explanation for it that they would like. It would quickly open up questions that could lead to Asylum and what it was.

Better to endanger herself than to endanger her home.

When she heard the door open she tasted Beast, Cyclops, and Wolverine on the air. When she turned around she wasn't surprised to see Jean and Storm as well. The whole command staff.

"I'm a genetic construct," Quetzal said. She was a believer in ripping of the bandage as quickly as possible. "And the first time I hear anyone say 'Frankenstein' this conversation is over."

"So you've been augmented?" Scott asked. "By whom?"

"I'm not a mod, augie, synth, or cyber. I'm a levite," Quetzal said. "A construct. Designed and assembled from gene one. In my world the pinnacle of the Cold War was the genetic arms race. And the pinnacle of the genetic arms race was me." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm a Chimera, that's a Soviet design. My model type was built for quick insertion and heavy combat. Any questions?"

"How does a soviet bioweapon end up in the middle of nowhere Texas?" Wolverine asked, trust him to latch on to that right away.

"I've told you, my father was special forces. His last mission was the destruction of a soviet genetics lab where they were creating Chimeras. At the end of the whole Chimera mess there was one egg left, mine. He didn't want to destroy it so he smuggled it back to the middle of nowhere Texas. Raised me like his own flesh and blood."

Cyclops had a different question bothering him. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Are you going to let me continue rehearsals with the kids?"

". . . . Maybe." But he clearly meant 'no.' It was easier for him than an outright deception.

"You don't want a weaponized construct who may or may not have operant conditioning around the kids. But you had no problems with it when you thought I was just a violent atyp. _That's_ one reason why I didn't say anything."

"I wouldn't say I had no problem with it," Scott said. "But you being a . . . . military construct is . . . . different. I'm not saying you're uncontrollable, but the damage you're capable of inflicting . . . I'd hate for anyone to accidentally trigger you."

The slow burn was building again. There was a pressure building in her chest. That was new. A few deep, controlled breaths and the pressure faded. "I don't have any triggers. I never got any operant conditioning. No post hypnotic commands. I was raised in a home like a normal kid." Quetzal held up her hands. "That's all the more I'm gonna talk about it. I don't want to discuss it. I don't want to be checked out or cured. And I especially don't want any investigations into triggers I don't have."

"That's not reasonable," Storm said. Her voice carried the usual tone of command. "This changes a great deal."

"It doesn't change a goddamned thing!" Quetzal shouted. Her whole face was red. "I'm as human as any of you are!" Her emotional control had completely cracked. "I'm the same person I was last week!"

"Fair enough," Wolverine said. "We've all got things in our pasts we don't want looked at too closely."

Quetzal lost the urge to yell and tried to kick her brain into overdrive. He wasn't on her side, so why was he pretending to be?

Before the conversation could continue Quetzal experienced another stabbing pain in her chest. The worst pang yet. She yelped in pain and dropped to her knees. It wasn't fading this time. She curled over herself and cringed, trying to keep from crying out again. Blood drained from her face and her skin was clammy.

Large paws wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her up. "Quetzal? What's wrong?"

"Pain," she panted. "In my chest."

He helped her up. "Let's get you down to the medical bay."


	14. Moonlight and Madness: TransSiberian

_Author's note: Sometimes the words are hard to put together. This time they were easy. Sometimes the story just flows._

_

* * *

  
_

"When did the pains start?" Beast asked.

"A while ago, it's been building." She sat on the edge of the bed and scratched at her chest. She looked around the lab. "You really are a jack of all trades huh?"

"I have a lot of interests." He pulled the X-rays he'd taken of her chest and examined them. "Are you okay?" Her pale face concerned him.

"The pain is gone. Still, it feels like I got hit in the chest really hard."

"It looks like there's some kind of foreign object here next to your heart." He frowned at the film. "You said, back when you first got here, that the crystal you encountered shattered and a fragment embedded in you?"

"Yeah, there were bits of shrapnel all over but I was able to get them out. None went that deep."

"Apparently one shard did. What did this crystal do?"

"My family – all we were concerned about was with getting my cousin back. Dad didn't go into any details during the briefing. I did find out a bit on my own though. From what I was able to gather, it made the reality . . . . loose at the seams."

"So this is probably what made you jump to different universes."

"I guess so."

"What happened last time you were jumped between universes? Physical symptoms I mean."

"It sucks. Everything feels like it's being pulled inside out."

"It doesn't look like there's any damage to the surrounding tissues or blood pooling. We can go in and take a look, try to get it out."

"No," Quetzal slid off the bed. "If it's what's making me jump between universes then it's the only way I have of getting back to my family."

"It doesn't sound like your jumps are controllable. The next one might kill you. Or the shard could just tear itself loose. That could be . . . disastrous."

Quetzal frowned.

"We can find you another way home." Damned if he knew how, but he would find a way to get her home. He started compiling a list in his head of contacts who might be able to help.

"I don't know."

Beast knew if he pushed too hard she'd shy away. "I'm not going to cut you open without permission Quetzal. But please think about it."

* * *

Quetzal found Wolverine in one of the halls on her way out the door. "What the heck exactly were you trying to do?" she growled at him. "You don't have any empathy for me."

"I figured you got out of answering a lot of awkward questions. Maybe now you'll answer one of mine. Where were you?"

Oh, he was clever when he wanted to be. "You have your methods for clearing your head, I have mine. A long flight and a good cup of coffee was all I wanted."

"And no good reason for not telling me this sooner?"

"I'm a stubborn cuss." She crossed her arms. "And I resent the flipping heck out of you tracking me like you did."

He glared at her. "You're still not telling the truth."

Quetzal shrugged. "I've confessed to everything I care to confess to. Believe it or don't, I've got nothing more to say." She stepped by him. "If you'll excuse me, I need some air. It's getting claustrophobic in here."

"You can't hide forever."

She grinned over her shoulder. "You're free to come with me if you like."

She always had to get in the parting shot. Wolverine was fine with that. It kept her talking and it kept her confident. At some point she'd slip up.

* * *

Quetzal sat on a fallen log next to the pond. It had been a while since the last pain in her chest. Probably because she was calmer now. Not so much adrenaline flooding her body.

She didn't like the woods. It was quiet, but it wasn't like the open plains. It was claustrophobic and dark. The trees filtered out what little light there was at dusk. The lowering light put a chill in her bones. She should have put on her jacket before she went out, but the sun had been relatively warm when she left to go outside and think. A layer of fluffy down underneath the sweatshirt would have to do for now.

Quetzal thought about her family. For the first time it really hit her that she might not see them again. If she let Beast take the shard out (if he even could) then there might be no way to get home. Even with the shard she might not get home. What if she jumped again and it landed her further away, or in the vacuum of space?

The thought of never seeing her family again made her eyes start to sting and water.

Maybe Beast could get her home somehow. Maybe she should just relax and let them run their tests. Have a little trust that the X-Men really were concerned about her.

She knew what her dad would tell her; _pride's a failing you got from me. You have to ask for help when you need it._

But did she really need help?

Her glance caught the hole she'd left in the ice when she fell through. It was starting to ice over. She could have died there so easily. That was a pretty clear indication there.

"All right," she muttered and stood up. "I'll let him take the shard out. I'll let them help me. I'll give them some trust. They might be nosy so-and-sos but they haven't made a move to hurt me. Not even Wolverine. I'll even flipping _ask_ them for help."

There was snow crunching behind her and Beast's smell pooled around her before the wind blew it away. "Worried doc?" she said without turning. "I was just about to come in."

"I'm so glad to hear that."

Quetzal's blood went cold. The voice wasn't right. It wasn't even close to right.

She turned, fearing the worst. When she saw him her stomach dropped and her heart froze. The fur was close to the right shade of blue now, but she could taste the chemical tang of dye. And even from this distance she could see the cruelty in his yellow eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she licked her lips. "_How_ did you get here?"

"I'm looking for you Wanderer. I've come to take you home."

"Bullspit," Quetzal hissed. She felt the Creature rear up and made no effort to restrain it. Her teeth lengthened and her protective plates started growing around to her front, preparing her for close-quarters combat. Dark Beast was as close as she'd ever come or ever hoped to come to actual incarnate evil.

"You have something that's mine, and I will take it back."

Her hand shot to her chest. The shard of crystal was what he wanted.

"In the meantime I have a present for you." He lightly tossed something small at her that glinted in the air.

Quetzal instinctively flinched, the protective membranes covering her eyes as she braced for something to happen. When nothing did she crouched to examine what he'd tossed at her feet. She picked up a gold chain with a small cross on it. It matched the one she wore.

"Your father says hello. Or at least he would if . . . .if he were here." Dark Beast smiled, gloating.

"_You bastard!_" Quetzal shrieked and threw herself at him.

He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against a tree. "Temper, temper." He drove his knee into her stomach before dropping her in the snow.

With the wind driven from her, Quetzal writhed in the snow, trying to breathe.

Dark Beast picked her up by the collar of her clothes. "I think I'll pay a visit to your friends first though."

"I'll kill you," she choked out.

"How much damage do you think I can do before they realize I'm not Beast? Last time I had an opportunity like this I bricked him up in a wall first. That was fun. Maybe I'll do it again. Stop thrashing." He shoved her face first into the tree.

Her face was bleeding. The change to Saurian form wasn't working. "Deal with me," she snarled. "You want the crystal I have. So deal with me. They've got nothing to do with this."

"Of course they don't. This is just for fun. I'll be seeing you Wanderer – real soon." He touched two claws to the side of her head.

Quetzal collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

* * *

It was dark when the Creature woke up. She thrashed to her feet. The trees were too closely packed for her to spread her wings so she ran. Abstract concepts were difficult for her to grasp, but she understood danger and fear. And what to do when a fearsome predator is headed to a nest with defenseless kin.

The Creature shrieked in the night air, a battle cry to rally comrades. Once again the call was unanswered. On her run to the mansion she stretched into saurian form, galloping on wings that she couldn't spread for flight.

She slammed into the front door at top speed. It creaked but it didn't give. With a shriek she circled back around to try again. Obstacles were a temporary hindrance, but still frustrating. This time the bay window proved to have much less structural integrity than the door.

The protective membranes covered her delicate eyes, but thick feathers protected the rest of her body. Leaping through the glass pane did no damage. The light in the room however, was blinding. She would have to rely on scent and temperature until her eyes adjusted.

The Creature barreled down hallways, snuffling for her prey's scent.

"Quetzal, what the hell are you doing?!"

The words meant nothing. A sudden flash of heat impacted her side and knocked her off of her stance. She thrashed to her feet and swung her tail around, knocking the human down. He was not her prey. She continued her pursuit.

The next snuffling breath drew in the traces of her prey. With another battle cry she charged forward, driven by an instinctual desire to remove the predator from her nest. Her prey yelped in surprise when she leapt forward, her mouth gaping wide.

Before she could snap her jaws shut every fiber of her being yelled _"STOP!"_ as the human half of her mind suddenly regained functionality. The Creature shut down and dropped to the ground.

Quetzal was as shocked as anyone else. Her form withdrew back into human proportions, feathers shedding off in one mass. She screamed in fear as she scooted away from Beast. He looked just as frightened as her.

"What happened?" she asked the world. It was just like waking up from a nightmare into something worse. "Where did Dark Beast go?" She was gulping air through her nose and mouth. "He said he was coming here. He said he was going to hurt people." She was moderately grateful that there was no trace of Dark Beast in the air.

"I'd say you beat him to it," Beast snapped. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Quetzal scrambled to her feet. She was naked; the transformation to the Creature shredded her clothes. "I have to find him. We're in danger until he's dealt with. All of us." She reached out a hand to help Beast to his feet.

"How the hell did the Creature get loose?" he asked as he hauled himself up.

She didn't remember it very clearly. "Dark Beast – he, he did something to my head." And she bolted back for the door, stopping only long enough to grab her long jacket.

Quetzal raced back to the pond as fast as she could. When she hit the cold night air she immediately reproduced the fluffy downy feathers over her bare skin and toughened her feet. Without slowing down she fumbled for her phone. The X-men weren't the only friends she had that Dark Beast might go after. She dialed Victor Creed's number and silently cursed each ring that went by. Finally the voice mail kicked on.

"I hope you're still using this number because it's the only one I know for you." She said quietly and quickly. "Keep an eye out for an atyp that looks like Beast over the next few days – heck, maybe weeks; he's patient. If he's not acting _right_ then put him down hard. Because it won't be Beast. It will be Dark Beast. He'll be after you because of me. Just stay careful. I don't have time to explain now."

Quetzal slowed down to a trot and then stopped. It abruptly occurred to her that if Dark Beast was still lingering then encountering him by herself would be bad.

Jean and Wolverine caught up to her quickly.

"You left quite a mess and scared a lot of people," Jean said. Her voice was stern.

Quetzal tried not to scream at them. They didn't understand how bad this guy was. "Dark Beast did something to my head. It let the Creature loose. She thought – she thought –" There was an intense image in Quetzal's head. A nest with young chimeras, fragile little eggs, and an insidious weasel trying to gnaw through them.

"That was a strong image." Jean blinked. "She thought her . . . nest was in danger."

"He said he was going to hurt everyone." Quetzal said. "And even if he didn't say it - it's what he does. We have to stop him."

"Where was he?" Jean asked.

"By the pond."

It was clear Wolverine wasn't buying into it, but Quetzal didn't care as they started towards the pond. He'd understand when he encountered Dark Beast. Brushing up against anything that evil could only provoke fear and the intense desire to right the world by eliminating it. The Creature had gone after the wrong target, but she would have died defending them against Dark Beast. They'd have to understand that.

"Stay alert," Quetzal said as they neared the pond. "He's very dangerous."

"Which is why you went charging in head first?" Wolverine asked.

"Hey, I smartened up," Quetzal said. "But hurry, we can't let him get away."

Finally they arrived at the pond. The snow was pristine and freshly fallen. Quetzal's tracks led up to the log she had been sitting on and then away from where she fell. There was nothing else. No second set of tracks, no signs of a brawl, nothing.

"I saw him here," Quetzal said. She wasn't believing what she saw.

Jean tucked her hands under her arms for warmth. "There's no sign anyone was here but you Quetzal."

"I saw him, I smelt him." She ran her claws through her hair, staring at the snow. "I fought with him. There - there should be blood here. My blood. It should . . . . it shouldn't be all . . . . undisturbed."

"There's nothing here kid," Wolverine growled. He was trying to figure out what her game was this time.

"This isn't possible." There was no sign of a struggle. No sign of anything but her lonesome presence. She saw a glint in the faint light and bent to pick it up. It was the necklace. "He gave me this."

Wolverine took it from her and smelled it. "Your scent's the only one on it." He handed it to Jean for examination.

"How do you know it belongs to your father?" Jean asked.

"It matches mine. My dad and mom, my sisters, my cousins, we all had matching crosses." Quetzal's hand touched the pendant around her own neck. The chain was loose enough that it would remain during her transformations.

"There don't seem to be any sort of distinguishing marks on it."

"Marks can be traced," Quetzal said. Her voice was distracted.

"That's my point," the testiness in her voice made Quetzal's attention snap back to the present.

"If it had any distinguishing marks then it wouldn't be his. My dad didn't carry anything that could be traced."

"Quetzal, I'm not sensing anyone around but us. No one is out here."

Quetzal was still staring at the snow. "He was here. He was," she insisted despite what her senses were now telling her.

"Let's go back to the Mansion," Jean said. "It's getting cold out here."

* * *

"I knew there was something not right about that girl," Wolverine said. "Course I didn't know she was that degree of crazy." He had told them about the afternoon Quetzal disappeared, went out of her way to avoid him and any questions he'd had about it.

It was clear to his friends that Beast's nerves were still jangling from his face-to-maw encounter with the Creature. "It does make the rest of what she's told us suspect."

"But is she lying?" Cyclops asked. Her reaction to his attempts to stun her had been swift and unexpected. The tail blow had sent him to the ground and knocked the glasses off his face. By the time he'd found them the incident was over, with a hangdog and confused Quetzal being escorted back inside by Jean and Wolverine. Quetzal stammered out sincere apologies for the mess and answered all the questions she could. All her answers boiled down to "Dark Beast did something," but even she acknowledged there was no evidence to back it up. Then she'd gone up to her room to get dressed and lay down.

"She seems to honestly believe what she's told us. Even the Creature thought it was protecting us." Jean said. "But . . . she may be disturbed."

"Dimension traveling has been known to cause problems in the perception of reality," Beast said. "Her whole history is . . . quite fantastic. With no way to prove or disprove it. Just her stories. While they hang together logically on the surface . . . . " he trailed off when he realized there wasn't a delicate way to say what he was thinking. "Schizophrenics can build similar views of the world. It all makes sense according to their internal logic, but it doesn't make it reality."

"And we haven't gotten a complete truth out of her yet," Wolverine said. He'd finally figured out why her pat answers bothered him. "She'll give half an answer. But any complete story has to be dragged out of her. Why didn't she tell us about being a construct."

"She did tell me." Beast said with a frown. "But it was only after I noticed the unusual genetic markers – where the building blocks were fused together."

"Right, you would have figured it out on your own," Wolverine said.

"And by telling me she could ask that I not tell anyone else." Beast shook his head. "Is she really that cagey?"

"You saw her at the camp," Wolverine answered. "Have you ever seen another raw recruit with nerves that steady? She has ice water in her veins."

"At any rate," Storm added. "It seems her control of her alter ego is not nearly as ironclad as she claimed. We could have had a bloodbath here like back at the camp. She nearly killed you Hank."

Beast didn't want to think about the gaping serrated jaws. "She stopped herself."

"Barely," Wolverine grumbled. "If she hadn't then how much more damage could she have done before we stopped her? She fast and tougher than she looks in that form."

There was silence for a minute as everyone considered what might have happened. Storm shuddered. "Things cannot be allowed to remain in this state. We have to leash the Creature if she is incapable of doing so."

Cyclops summed up the situation. "So we have on our hands a weaponized mutant with delusions of persecution. Jesus Christ, and we were letting her near the children."

"We were lucky," Wolverine said. "So what do we do with her now?"

* * *

Quetzal sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the necklace in her hands. She didn't know about the conference that took place downstairs, but she berated herself for her actions and turned the matter over in her head.

She was certain the necklace was her father's. And she knew she hadn't acquired it herself. It was real and solid. Something had happened.

But her body had no bruises or aches that would have remained after a confrontation like that. There was nothing in the snow to show that a second person had been there. Not a footprint or tuft of fur or anything. And looking back at the way it ended she had to concede that to the best of her knowledge Dark Beast didn't have any talents or tech that would shut down the human half of her mind.

So she was forced to entertain the possibility that it was in her head. It was unthinkable. She didn't have hallucinations. Horrible, awful nightmares on occasion, but never hallucinations. Never anything to suggest her mind could snap to the point where she'd procure her own matching necklace and not remember it. If she were a normal atyp with a normal brain structure she could chalk it up to a malevolent psychic. But psychics had no effect on her.

Therefore she was either sane and something – _someone _was screwing with her with technology she didn't know and for motives she didn't understand. Or she was losing her mind. There was no third option that she could see. The second scenario was unacceptable, but the first was unbelievable.

Her dad would tell her to think it through before things got even further out of hand. Figure out your options before any of them close off.

She closed her eyes and thought like a Chimera, not the scared girl she was. If someone was out to get her then she was clearly unprepared for this kind of attack. Without motive or even a likely perpetrator she couldn't track down her unseen attacker. Still, she wasn't about to discount Dark Beast as the force behind it right away. Furthermore, the attack had nearly caused an unacceptable casualty when she nearly took Beast's head off.

Maybe she was losing her mind. It wasn't likely. All Chimeras were supposed to be psychologically hardy. An army of super soldiers would be useless if they were suffering from PTSD. There was nothing in her mental history to suggest that she was likely to start suffering delusions that badly for no cause. So if it was her going crazy then somehow it was due to her recent connection with the X-men. Maybe Jean's psychic ability had an unpredictable effect on the connection between Chimera and human. Maybe Quetzal, lacking the conditioning she was designed for, wasn't that psychologically hardy and the violence had splintered her mind further. Maybe the stress had her jumping at shadows her mind was manufacturing.

_So matter which of the two scenarios is correct, there's only one course of action,_ she concluded. _I have to go._

She didn't notice she was rubbing at her sternum again. When she got up she grabbed her phone and checked the hallway to make sure no one was hanging around eavesdropping.

Quetzal hit redial on her cell phone and waited for the other end to pick up. Once again the call was picked up by a soulless if cheerful voice connecting her to the recipient's voice mailbox.

"It's me again," Quetzal said. "I think – it seems I may have warned you about nothing. I'm sorry if I caused any alarm. Still, keep an eye out for any encounters that don't seem right. He's vicious, and he'd hurt anyone I had contact with, just for fun it seems. I might be crazy; I might be paranoid; I might be right and everyone that I . . . that I talk to is in danger. Be careful." She took a deep breath. "I know you didn't mean it out of any goodness of your heart but I think you were right about what I should do. You might not hear from me for a while."

Afterward leaving the message she ended the call and set the phone on the nightstand. She sat back in the armchair, legs akimbo, and rested her head against the back of it, waiting to fall asleep. Her dad would do that when the end of the day came and he was worried about the ubiquitous "them" being after his small family. Of course when he did it he had a shotgun with anti-personnel rounds laid across his lap. Quetzal had to satisfy herself with an unsheathed K-Bar knife resting under one hand.

_I guess you were right dad. "_They" _really are after me._ She tightened her grip around the necklace looped around her hand. _And when I find them, they'll have heck to pay._

Sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

Wolverine sat against the wall in the room next to Quetzal's. It was Kitty's and she was away. He felt like he was invading her privacy by being in here without her knowledge. Kitty kept the door locked and faded through it as she needed to so he would have to fix the busted lock before she returned. In the meantime he was able to sit with his back to the wall and listen to Quetzal as she thought she was alone. She didn't talk to herself as much as he'd hoped, but he did hear her leave a message on someone's phone.

So Quetzal was making contact with someone in secret. Warning them about things. It sounded like it could be a handler. Mysterious meetings and mysterious messages were a bad sign.

Despite that, he felt better knowing his instincts weren't leading him false. He had to find some kind of proof, but now he knew there was something to be found.

He waited in the darkness. He would have to wait until he was confident she was asleep. Her senses were acute too and he didn't want to be heard. In the meantime he closed his eyes and meditated.

A few hours later Wolverine made his way to his own bed. Any soreness from sitting on the hardwood floor that long was both ignored and rapidly fading. He was trying to think of a way to get Quetzal's phone away from her. The messages left for her would probably prove to be quite enlightening.

She always seemed to be carrying her phone in her front pocket. If Remy were around it'd be a quick matter to ask the light-fingered Cajun to lift the phone, but he was off dealing with some personal business and wasn't likely to be back for another few weeks. Wolverine would just have to remain alert for an opportunity.

With the rudiments of a plan in place Wolverine felt much better. It was only a matter of time until who Quetzal really was and what she was doing was ferreted out. He laid down to catch a few hours of sleep.

* * *

The sound of a manila envelope being propped against the window didn't wake him up. It was unlabeled and had no fingerprints or any other identifying materials. There were no footprints in the snow leading up to it.

Wolverine would find it in the morning. And all the predictive models indicated that his subsequent actions would prod Quetzal to develop in a suitable fashion. She had proven resistant so far, but that wouldn't last. All domesticated creatures, chimeras included, craved to be broken to the harness at some deep level.

* * *

_Author's Postscript: One chapter left in this 'verse. Stay tuned!_


	15. So Much Like My Dad: Willie Nelson

Early in the morning, Quetzal knocked on the door to Beast's lab. "Excuse me, doc?"

Beast looked up from his reading at her quiet voice. "Yes Quetzal?"

Seeing that he didn't seem angry at her made Quetzal at least meet his eyes. "I'm really sorry about scaring you," she said. "I'm not sure what happened last night. If it means anything at all, I was . . . afraid. That I'd brought _him _here. And I'm really, truly sorry."

"You apology is accepted Quetzal, but you'll understand if we're all a bit wary this morning." Forgiveness was possible, but forgetting seemed to be a singularly bad idea. "We need to look into precautions to keep whatever happened last night from happening again."

"Dangerous animals," she said in a voice that was mostly sorrowful but carried a harsh edge of bitter anger. "Need to be leashed."

"Don't be like that Quetzal. You're a young woman with a mutation that affects your mind. I don't hold that against you, none of us do. But you're also an abnormally dangerous mutant. Atyp." He corrected himself when she winced. "And that's not your fault either. It's not unusual for an atyp to take precautions when their powers can't be controlled. Like Rogue and her gloves and Scott and his glasses."

"But I can control it," Quetzal said. "Nothing like last night has ever happened before. Ever."

"Your mutation may still be manifesting. You may in fact be undergoing a secondary mutation. You might be experiencing some ill effects from your first contact with Dark Beast or your time in the camp. We'll help you through this, whatever it is. But you have to work with us, so we all stay safe."

She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. "Thank you," she finally settled on. "If I could trouble you just a bit further, I'd like to get some more anti-venin made."

Beast marked his place in his book. "Not a problem at all." It was, in fact, a relief. Part of the previous night was a discussion about whether they could at least draw off her venom. Her unprompted volunteering to do so was fortuitous. "I can get everything set up and we can do it this afternoon."

"Thanks. Can I have a few of the anti-venin doses you've already got prepared?" she asked. "I was thinking it wouldn't be a bad idea to carry some on me, just in case."

Keeping the antidote close to the poison sounded like a good idea. He handed her two of the doses. "I designed it for maximum portability. It's shelf-stable, and it works just like an epi-pen. Do you know what to do with those?"

"Yeah, I took a first aid course a year ago." Quetzal pocketed the doses. "Thanks." She sighed. "You said you might be able to get the shard of crystal out, I think I'd like to do that." She swiped at her eyes. "I mean, you meant what you said, that you'd try to find a way to get me home, right? That's . . . still true."

* * *

"It's still true."

The phone buzzed in Quetzal's pocket, alerting her to a text message. It was Victor Creed's number.

_What the hell is going on?_

Quetzal breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was okay. She had been worried that Dark Beast had gone after him first. She typed out a message in response. _Not sure. Probably nothing._ She glanced at Cyclops who was sitting across from her at the breakfast table. _Not a good time 2 talk_, she added.

_Meet me at the park. ASAP_

She sighed deeply. There wasn't time today for this kind of stuff. She'd already packed her things to go, but there was still things she needed to do before she left. She had to talk to Cyclops, get the next doses of anti-venin started, talk to the kids about why she had to leave, and start looking for a new job and place to live. _Tomorrow,_ she promised.

_Now._

_Not a good time_, she replied.

_Now,_ he repeated.

Quetzal shoved the phone into her pocket and polished off the last of her oatmeal. "I'm going out for a flight," she announced. "I'll be back in a little while."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Cyclops asked. "After last night?"

"You'd rather keep me cooped up in a small space with people in it?" She said it with a smile, but left a little edge to the question. "I'll be back in a bit. Hank said he draw my venom this afternoon to make another batch of anti-venin."

Quetzal went up to the room, typing in a last text. _Be there soon. Going offline._ She pulled the battery out of the phone. After what happened last time she left for a rendezvous she wasn't going to risk bringing anything that sent out a traceable signal. She left the battery under her pillow and took the rest of the phone with her. She also stuffed a clean shirt and pants into her bag, something she wouldn't mind ditching for a few days to get the scent off of them.

It wasn't a particularly good day for a flight, but the air was smooth enough that she was able to make good time as she winged her way to the city.

* * *

Quetzal landed with a thud, shaking her long feathers loose so she could pull on her hooded sweatshirt. She'd left her bag with the clothes she'd been wearing at the start of the day hanging in a tree about two minutes flight from the mansion.

"Took you long enough to get here," Sabretooth grumbled.

She pulled the shirt down over her head. "Nice to see you too."

"What the hell is going on? What were those messages about?"

"Oh come on, you could have asked me that over the phone."

"I needed to see if you were going crazy."

She paused. "I might be. It's a possibility. I don't think I am." She sighed deeply. "It's a long story."

He opened the car door for her. "Tell it to me over breakfast?"

And for the first time that morning she smiled.

* * *

Beast looked up from his reading again when the door opened. Logan was standing there, tapping an envelope in his hand. "Have you seen Quetzal?" he asked.

Hank set his research aside. "She was in here very early this morning. Why?"

"Nothing important."

Hank didn't particularly appreciate being bullshitted before he'd even finished his first cup of coffee. But he wanted to finish the stack of journals sitting on his desk more than he wanted to further pursue the enmity between Quetzal and Wolverine. "Try the kitchen. If nothing else she made arrangements with me to get her venom drawn this afternoon."

"How'd you swing that?"

"She came to me. So we had a lucky break there."

"I'm gonna keep looking for her."

Hank reached for the journal again. "Play nice."

* * *

"If it's any consolation," Sabretooth said. "You don't seem crazy."

Quetzal dragged a claw through the traces of egg yolk left on her plate. "Not really. If I'm not crazy then something bad is happening."

"You seem capable of dealing with bad things."

"Now that is a consolation." She licked the tip of her claw off. "Much as I'd prefer to live a quiet life. Still, if someone's messing with me, I'm gonna teach them not to."

"You can't let people get away with screwing with you. It's bad policy." He checked his watch. "Speaking of which –"

Quetzal picked up her fork, ready to stab if need be. "That's not a good transition."

He grinned. "Toad should be meeting me here soon. He may still be under the impression I killed you."

"We don't need to go through that song and dance again do we?"

He laughed. "No, but I thought you might like to be here for the payoff. It'd go quite a ways towards solving your rent money problem."

"You didn't kill me and you're going to take his money anyway?"

"He's very lucky I'm not gonna kill him. And this is more fun."

"You're twisted."

He shrugged. "You could always leave."

Quetzal smiled as she slid out of the booth. "Scuse me. I need to powder my nose."

"He should be here in five minutes."

* * *

Wolverine searched Quetzal's room. The envelope was sitting on her night stand as he went through the packed duffel bag. It was half-packed with her clothes and the few items left from when she landed. And a combat knife and riot baton of unknown origin.

There wasn't much in the room. She kept it sparse. Whether it was due to lack of belongings or a desire to be able to move quickly, Wolverine couldn't say.

He wasn't concerned about getting his scent over her things. Things were past the stage of subtle investigations and sniping at each other from the corners. There was going to be a confrontation when she got back from her flight.

Logan could hardly believe his luck when overturning her pillows revealed her phone. The battery was gone, but the SIM card was still inside. Even better luck was knowing that Storm had the same model of phone. He took the SIM card and went to go find Storm.

Toad sat down across from Sabretooth. He was looking better. "So she's dead then?"

"She put up a bit of a fight."

Toad grinned. "I bet she did."

Having crept up quiet as a mouse, Quetzal slid into the booth next to Toad, trapping him between her and the wall. She grinned, baring her fangs. "She put up more than just a bit of a fight."

Something sharp jabbed Toad in the ribs.

"Victor," he hissed. "What's going on?"

Quetzal's smile was wide. "I worked out a better deal with him. The two of us split the cash you brought. And you," she jabbed him again. "You don't have to find out which one of us is more pissed at you. Doesn't that sound brilliant?"

He swallowed hard and glared as hard as he dared at Victor. "What do you have to be upset about?"

"She hits really hard," Victor said.

Quetzal held up her bandaged wrist. "And he bites."

Toad passed the paper wrapped bundle to Quetzal. She dropped the fork on the table. "I knew we could all be friends," she practically chirped. "Would you like some pancakes? I'm gonna get some more pancakes. Mr. Creed?"

"Just coffee."

"Waitress!"

* * *

Quetzal flew back to the mansion. Victor Creed had a twisted sense of humor, but that didn't really surprise her. She was just glad she wasn't on the receiving end of it. She was even happier that indulging him earned her five thousand dollars. That would be plenty to live off of while she looked for a way to get settled in the city.

There were just a few things left to do. Get her venom drawn, talk to Cyclops, and pick up her things. Maybe grab a snack. Then she'd put distance between herself and the X-men. By nightfall everyone would feel safer.

She landed in the tree her bag was hanging from. It was a rough landing with the branches in the way, but she recovered the bag and dropped to the ground. She changed quickly, yelping briefly to herself as the cold air blew through her feathers.

As she was reaching into the bag for her wool cap her fingers brushed against the battery to her phone. "Aw, flipping heck," she swore. She'd meant to leave the battery and bring the phone. Well, there wasn't anything to be done about it now. Stupid mistake though.

Quetzal bundled the clothes with Sabretooth's scent on them and stuffed them under a rock. She'd pick them up later, after she left the mansion.

With two miles left to the Mansion, Quetzal decided to walk. Getting out of the trees would be challenging enough, but the winds were starting to pick up. One good down draft might knock her back into the branches before she could get enough distance between her and the ground, then she'd be picking splinters out for the better part of the day.

* * *

Impatient to see Quetzal, Wolverine was ranging through the woods, more to work off energy than in any hope of finding the girl. He was just as surprised as she was when he ran across her.

After a surprised yelp Quetzal settled down, rubbing at her sternum. She'd been lost in thought, studying the ground as she walked. "Flipping heck," she said. "You scared the life half outta me. You make less noise than a darn cat."

"Where have you been?" Logan asked.

Quetzal shrugged. "Same place I was last time. Out. Getting some air and some coffee. I didn't want to stay cooped up after last night."

"And once again, I'm just supposed to believe that?"

She was not in the mood to argue. "Enough. I'm leaving okay? I'll be out of your hair and I won't be a danger anymore. I'm just going back to the mansion to get my things. Then I'm gone."

Wolverine pulled a folded manila envelope from his jacket and opened it. "We've gone a long way past you just leaving." He pulled out a photograph and tossed it at her.

Quetzal snatched the photo from the air. Already she knew this wasn't going to end well. Looking at it confirmed her worst fear. It was a picture of her and Sabretooth taken shortly after their encounter at the coffee shop. The picture showed him wrapping a bandage around her wrist.

"I got the text messages off your phone too," Wolverine said.

She would have sworn on her life that there was no one close enough to take pictures. The existence of the photo opened up questions and implications that there was no time to think about. "This is exactly what it looks like." She flung the picture back. "At Genosha . . . . I did things I didn't think I was capable of. My father told me I was a wolf and he was more right than he could have known. I needed advice."

"So you thought it only made sense to turn to a brutal sociopath for it."

"I only know two wolves," she snapped back. "You and him. And turn to you for advice? Talk to you about my feelings, weaknesses and worries? That wasn't gonna happen. You hate me. I had no choice!" she laced her voice with as much acid as she could manage, hoping to put him on the defensive.

"Of course! There was absolutely no one else on the planet you could have turned to."

"Wolves don't live like sheep. It's not their nature. Just because you can't accept what you are doesn't mean I have to reject it. God made lambs, but he made wolves too."

"God didn't make you. You're a damn science experiment."

Quetzal felt like she'd been slapped. She couldn't find any words to express her rage. Her claws were digging into the palms of her hands. "This is why I went to him. You never gave me a chance."

"I guess there's some sense there," Wolverine acceded. It didn't lower her alert level. "So the first time you made contact with him was after Genosha. You just needed advice."

Warily, wondering where the next attack was going to come from, Quetzal answered. "Yes. That's it exactly."

Wolverine threw the second picture at her. "Lying little bitch," he snarled.

Quetzal was angry enough that she missed the picture when she snatched for it. She grabbed it from the ground at her feet. Her fingers had barely grazed it when Wolverine leapt at her.

The impact knocked the wind from her. She scratched at him as she went down but he quickly pinned her under his weight. Further fighting on her part was discouraged by the claw he set against her throat.

Wolverine grabbed the second picture out of the snow and held it in front of her face. "This one was taken before Genosha," he growled. "Start talking. What have you two been planning?"

Quetzal stared at the picture. It was her and Victor Creed. Clearly taken before her time at Genosha because she still had her long red braid. In the photo he was handing her a book. She was stunned into silence.

"Answer me!" Wolverine yelled.

She grinned up at him, but hate was in her golden eyes. Her exposed fangs combined with the glare to turn it into a feral, crazed look. "Victor Creed is my father."

"Bullshit." But everything clicked at once and he knew she was telling the truth. Her tooth-jarring laugh was a higher-pitched echo of Sabretooth's. Her walk was a more feminine version of his prowling gait. And the bared-fang grin and hateful eyes that stared up at him now were definitely familiar. "So you've been lying the whole time."

She chuckled. "Not once. By the time I hatched he had long since retired."

"You said your father's name was dos Santos."

"It is. He took my mother's name after she died. Victor Creed is a hard name to hide with. Amazing how much of the truth you can hide without ever telling a lie. I went looking for Sabretooth because I needed my father's advice. He's a son of a bitch, but he's the closest thing I've got to family here." She squirmed under his weight, trying to get comfortable in the snow.

"I don't buy it. You two are up to something."

She laughed. "Get over it runt. I was telling the truth since I got here. You just weren't smart enough to add up all the bits and pieces. Don't take it personally. Hardly anyone is. My family's awfully good at this."

Wolverine pressed the edge of his claw against of her throat as hard as he dared. He didn't want to kill her, just scare her into the truth. "Talk."

He could hear her heart thudding in her chest. "What do you want to hear? You want me to make something up? Will that make you feel better? To hear that I'm some kind of snake that was welcomed with open arms? I'm no snake."

Before Wolverine could say anything else, her tail snapped into the back of his head, stunning him and knocking his weight off center. Her wiggling had been hiding her growing tail. With an arm free she reached for his face, nearly digging her claws into his eye. She sunk her teeth into his arm.

He wasn't prepared for the onslaught as she kicked, scratched, and bit her way free. Any counter moves at that point would have been potentially lethal and he didn't want to kill her. Wolverine let her fight free.

Quetzal scrambled away and turned, ready for another attack.

"If you were his kid it would have showed up on the genscan," Wolverine extended the claws on his right hand to their full length. He was ready for a fight too. But he didn't have much doubt that she was who she said he was.

"I was adopted. I'm still a construct."

"You're a damn Creed."

Her face split in a crooked, leering grin. "Daddy's little angel." Then she threw her head back and screamed.

When she took the deep inhale Wolverine quickly covered his ears. His sense of balance went off, but he wasn't incapacitated.

Quetzal hadn't waited to see what affect she had before she sprung at him. Her claws went straight for his eyes. Her weight knocked him to the ground. "You'd kill him if you got the chance wouldn't you!" there was an insane light in her eyes.

"Damn straight." He threw her off before her claws closed round his throat.

She wasn't going to be shaken loose so easily. This time her claws went for his eyes. "Like you killed my mother?! Like you tried to kill me?!"

The girl had snapped. She wasn't connected to the current reality anymore. Wolverine tried to incapacitate her without killing her, but she wasn't making it easy. Even in her crazed state she fought well. He felt his claws cut into her flesh and scrape along bone. He pulled his claws back before they could cut through the bone.

With a scream she pulled herself away. Her hand was clamped over her right eye and blood was streaming between her fingers. Her good eye had that feral look again. The same look a wild creature had, no emotion, just pain. Before he could say anything she flung herself at him again. This time she got her teeth in his throat as she tackled him to the ground. One of her hands found his face, dragging her claws from his forehead to his jaw. Her toe claws had cut through the canvas of her shoes and she kicked at him, trying to find soft tissue.

Half blinded and in a world of pain Wolverine's world was in sensory overload. He wasn't fighting a talented kid anymore. He was fighting a Creed, and she was out to kill him. Disorientation, pain, and the blood filling his senses made it too hard to think. The too familiar feel of claws cutting into him triggered his own survival instincts.

Quetzal's internal world was quiet except for the flare of pain on the side of her face. Chimeras were bred for this after all. While it had been her rage at finally targeting the man who would kill her family that goaded her into attacking, it was the Creature that fought now. The Creature understood pain, but deeper than that she understood that she now had a primary target between her teeth.

Instincts were quiet things. She didn't need to think about where to bite or scratch. She didn't need to think about cutting up and under the ribcage to avoid the tough bones and get to the soft organs. It just came naturally. There was no anger. She was a predator, he was her rightful prey.

There was a pain in her belly that the Creature ignored. It was better this way. Let him get his claws tangled in her and then her sisters would be able to kill him with ease. She shrieked her hunting call to bring them. The call went unanswered. She bit, using her full dose of venom. Then she shrieked again.

The unanswered call was distressing the Creature. Where was her pack? Where were her hunting sisters? Where was her family?

Thoughts of family woke the human up again. She was aware of the pain, but only dimly. It was hard to breathe and her mouth was full of the taste of blood. And she heard her dad's voice echoing in her head. _No baby, my nightmare was that he killed you._

Quetzal screamed in two different kinds of pain. The pain she suddenly felt in her belly and the tearing feeling near her heart, and the sudden realization of what she'd done. She flung herself up and back, away from Wolverine. She tried to staunch the blood flow coming from the cuts in her stomach. They were deep.

Wolverine's cuts were already pulling together. But she saw the blood coming from his eyes. He'd been poisoned. Already his breathing was fast and shallow. The venom was affecting him faster than she would've thought.

She fumbled at her pocket and came up with one of the doses of anti-venin. She threw it at him. "Take the anti-venin," she panted. "The venom's designed to kill superhealers. Take the antidote now or it'll be too late."

Wolverine stood over her. He could feel the poison spreading faster than his body could cure it. "Why?" he asked, injecting the contents of the ampoule.

"I'm not . . ." Quetzal took as deep a breath as she could before the pain struck. "Going to let the Creature kill you."

She closed her golden eye. She looked so pale and fragile. Wolverine knelt, trying to figure out how much damage he'd done to the girl. "Don't move. I'll get you back to the mansion."

When the eye opened she was a Creed again. She bared bloodstained teeth at him. "Because _I'm_ gonna be the one to kill you, _runt_."

And with that, Quetzal was gone. Not dead, vanished. There had been a small popping sound as the air collapsed in on where she had been. There was nothing around Wolverine but bloody snow and a few scraps of clothes.

Wolverine knelt there for a while. Gradually his breaths came easier. He looked around at a loss. But in the end there was nothing he could do. He picked up her bag and started back to the mansion, wondering what he was going to tell the others.

* * *

Quetzal was nearly insensate as she fell. The distance she fell wasn't nearly as far as the last time. The impact sent a fresh flare of pain through her body and she yelped in response. She lay flat on the metal floor, appreciating the cool feeling against her cheek. She smelled her blood pooling around her. Her consciousness was trickling out with the blood.

There was a feminine scream. "You have to help my sister!" Soft hands turned Quetzal over, putting pressure on her wounds.

Quetzal forced her good eye open. The image was blurry but she knew who it wasn't. "Yurr not –" she slurred. "Not Sally." Quetzal closed her eye again.

"We don't have a sister." Another set of hands grabbed at her. They moved professionally, checking her pulse, pulling back her eyelid. He picked Quetzal off the ground, carrying her away from where she fell.

"Simon you have to help her!" The young woman shouted.

"I will."

Quetzal was dropped on a softer surface than the floor.

"I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you. What's your name?"

His voice was very far away. It was like she was sinking to the bottom of a pool. Answering his question was too much effort.

"Stay with me."

Quetzal knew should fight. She should swim back to the top of all that water she seemed to be underneath. But something deeper than sleep was coming to claim her and she just wanted to stop fighting.

As she slipped under there was another voice. "Doc, you want to explain what this gorram girl is doing on my ruttin' ship?"

"Bleeding to death unless I do something."

And then she let the darkness cover her like a blanket.

* * *

_Author's Note: Well that's the end of Verse 1. It took 64,000 words and nearly a year, but there it is. Is anyone still reading? Anyone still interested in what happens to Quetzalcoatl Hope dos Santos-Creed? Leave me a comment and let me know if I should continue._


	16. Final Author's note

This is it for 'Verse 1.

Now we take a break to check out some backstory with Quetzal's parents. Just a quick diversion. From here you can check out Interlude 1 or you can wait for the beginning of 'Verse 2 in about 8 weeks.


End file.
